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THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 


©©00OO0000000000O000O0OOOO0G000O00 

I  By  EGERTON   CASTLE  | 

I  YOUNG  APRIL.  | 

I  THE  LIGHT   OF  SCARTHEY.  | 

I  MARSHFIELD   THE  OBSERVER.  | 

I  CONSEQUENCES.  § 

I  THE  JERNINGHAM    LETTERS.  | 

O              \_fyith  Portraits.']  © 

O  ENGLISH     BOOK-PLATES,     Ancient    and   | 

O            Modern.      [Illustrated.]  © 

0  SCHOOLS    AND     MASTERS     OF  FENCE,    © 

O  »*  A  XT  ® 

0  FROM    THE    Middle     Ages   to    the    Nine-   o 

0  teenth   Century.      [^Illustrated.]                    q 

%  LE  ROMAN   DU    PRINCE   OTHON.               % 

®  A  rendering  in   French  of  R.  L.    Stevenson  s   ® 

0  Prince  Otto.  0 
©  © 

|00OO00©0©0000O©©0000©0000©©000©Oo 

I  With  AGNES  castle! 

^  (  Mrs.  Egerton  Castle  )  q 

1  THE  PRIDE    OF   JENNICO.  % 

O  THE  BATH    COMEDY.  © 

©  THE  HOUSE    OF    ROMANCE.  © 

O  THE    SECRET   ORCHARD.  © 

O  0 

©00000O000O0O0000OOO00O00000000000 


w 


'you  seem  to  be  misled  by  some  curious  resemblance, 

SAID    THE    DUKE,    IN    HIS    ICE-COLD    VOICE,  "—^/'^'i^^  U^J- 


The  SECRET 
ORCHARD 

By  Agnes  &f  Egerton  Castle 

Authors  of  "  THE  PRIDE  OF  JENNICO," 
"THE  BATH  COMEDY,"  "THE 
HOUSE     OF     ROMANCE,"      etc. 

Illustrated  by  Charles  D.Williams 

Iherefore   shall  they  eat  of  the 
fruit  of  their  own  way. —  Proverbs 


NEW  YORK  '    FREDERICK  A. 
STOKES    COMPANY  •    MCMI 


Copyright,  igoo,  igoi,  by 
Cosmopolitan  Magazine  Company 

Copyright,  jgoi,  by 
Egerton  Castle 

Copyright,  igoT,  by 
Frederick  A.  Stokes  Company 


UNIVERSITY     PRESS     •    JOHN    WILSON 
A»0    SON    •    CAMBRIDGE,    U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I.  — AFTERNOON 

"  Stolen  waters  are  sweet,  and  bread  eaten  in  secret  is  pleasant. 
But  he  knoweth  not  that  the  dead  are  there,  and  that  her  guests 
are  in  the  depth  of  hell^  —  Proverbs. 

Page 

Chapter  I 3 

Chapter  II 13 

Chapter  III 19 

Chapter  IV 27 

Chapter  V 34 

Chapter  VI 49 

Chapter  VII 58 

Chapter  VIII 67 

Chapter  IX 80 

BOOK  IL  — THE    EVENING    OF   THE    DAY 

"  And  thy  heaven  that  is  over  thy  head  shall  be  brass,  and 
the  earth  that  is  under  thee  shall  be  iron.''''  — Deuteronomy. 

Chapter  X 93 

Chapt£R  XI 102 


vi  CONTENTS 

Pagz 

Chapter  XII 109 

Chapter  XIII 120 

Chapter  XIV 124 

Chapter  XV 135 

Chapter  XVI 143 

Chapter  XVII       150 

Chapter  XVIII 168 

Chapter  XIX 178 

BOOK  III.  — A   WEEK    LATER 

"  And  thy  life  shall  hang  in  doubt  before  thee,  and  thou  shalt 
fear  day  and  night.    .   .    .    In  the  morning  thou  shalt  say,  would 
God  it  were  even!     And  at  even  thou  shalt  say,  would  God  it 
were  morning!'''' — Deuteronomy. 

Chapter  XX 185 

Chapter  XXI 201 

Chapter  XXII 212 

Chapter  XXIII 219 

Chapter  XXIV 230 

Chapter  XXV 236 

Chapter  XXVI 239 

Chapter  XXVII 247 

Chapter  XXVIII 251 

Chapter  XXIX 260 

Chapter  XXX 264 


CONTENTS  v'n 

Pagz 

Chapter  XXXI 270 

Chapter  XXXII 277 

Chapter  XXXIII 280 

Chapter  XXXIV 289 

Chapter  XXXV 295 

BOOK   IV.  — THE   LAST   EVENING;   AND 
THE   DAWN 

"  Hatred  stirreth  up  strife,  but  love  cover eth  all  sins.*'  — 
Proverbs. 

Chapter  XXXVI 301 

Chapter  XXXVII 308 

Chapter  XXXVIII 315 

Chapter  XXXIX 320 

Chapter  XL 326 

Chapter  XLI 332 

THAT   DAY    MONTH 
Chapter  XLII 341 


BOOK  I— AFTERNOON 

"Stolen  waters  ai-e  sweet,  and  bread  eaten  in  secret  is 
pleasant.  But  he  knoweth  not  that  the  dead  are  there,  atid 
that  her  guests  are  in  the  depth  of  hell." — Proverbs. 


THE  SECRET  ORCHARD 


CHAPTER   I 

SILVER  and  gold  lay  the  landscape  beneath 
the  terrace  of  the  Chateau  de  Fitzroy,  this 
golden  month  of  September,  this  golden 
hour  of  the  afternoon.  The  fields  of  La 
Celle  bathed  in  sunlight,  the  wooded  slopes  of 
St.  Michel  and  Marly  already  autumn  yellow,  melted 
into  the  delicate  hazes  of  the  valley  where  the  Seine 
shimmered  distantly,  stream  of  burnished  silver  be- 
tween the  dim  silver  of  its  banks.  In  the  far  back- 
ground, just  substantial  against  the  unsubstantial  sky 
line,  poised  like  the  last  fantastic  touch  of  a  romantic 
painter,  rose  the  ruined  arches  of  Marly  aqueduct  — 
that  crowning  extravagance  of  the  Roy-Soleil.  It 
completed  a  picture  which  in  its  exquisite  unreality, 
its  warmth  and  glow,  its  richness,  its  stillness,  seemed 
like  the  dream  of  a  Claude  Lorraine,  expressed  by  that 
past-mistress  of  all  art,  —  living  Nature  herself. 

With  a  hasty  yet  a  heavy  tread,  the  tread  of  busy- 
minded,  vigorous  middle-age.  Dr.  Lebel  came  running 
up  the  stone  steps  from  the  garden-paths  below,  and 
emerged  upon  the  terrace,  —  truly  a  most  unromantic 
figure  in  the  foreground  of  this  glowing  panorama. 
Through  large-rimmed  spectacles  he  flung  one  swift 


4  THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

look  around  him,  and  noting  with  impatient  disap- 
pointment the  empty  wicker  chairs,  the  deserted 
work-table,  paused,  snapped  his  fingers,  and  clacked 
his  tongue.  Then  he  glanced  up  at  the  fagade  of 
the  house,  all  mellow  in  the  sunshine  that,  year  in, 
year  out,  had  gilded  it  since  the  days  of  Louis  XIV,; 
Luciennes,  the  most  genial,  the  gayest-looking  surely 
of  those  too  few  "  stately  homes  "  of  old  France  left 
untouched  by  the  furious,  indiscriminate  zeal  of  the 
Revolution. 

Gone  is  the  pleasaunce  of  Marly:  nothing  left  to 
recall  its  splendid  elegance  but  the  marble-lined  basin 
now  used  as  a  horse-pond.  Gone  is  the  palatial  man- 
sion of  Sceaux :  its  very  site  lost  amid  ploughed 
fields  and  pastures,  a  few  scattered  statues,  once 
the  pride  of  its  wondrous  gardens,  now  serving  as 
boundary-marks  to  peasant  estates.  Gone  is  Choisy- 
le-Roy,  the  miniature  Versailles.  Gone  and  forgotten 
every  ancient  seat  of  the  great  noblesse  within  strik- 
ing distance  of  turbulent  Paris,  except  by  what  seems 
almost  a  freak  of  fate,  this  Chateau  de  Fitzroy,  or 
"  Luciennes,"  as  it  is  more  generally  known  from  the 
name  of  the  nearest  village. 

On  the  crest  of  the  western  hills,  midway  between 
the  heights  of  Versailles  and  the  forest  of  St.  Ger- 
main, within  three  leagues  of  the  bastioned  walls  of 
the  capital,  Luciennes  sits  proudly,  rare  specimen  of 
the  country  mansion  such  as  old  France  loved  to 
build ;  not  only  unmolested,  but  unrenovated  and 
(yet  more  admirable  fortune!)  still  in  the  hands  of 
the  family  for  which  it  was  erected. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD  5 

A  simple  and  noble  building  rising  to  two  lofty- 
floors  under  a  slate  Mansard  roof;  lying  between  its 
court  of  honour  and  its  terraced  garden,  in  the  middle 
of  a  park  laid  out  two  centuries  ago  by  Le  N6tre, 
Louis  the  Great's  own  great  gardener. 

Most  of  the  long  windows,  under  their  heavy  stone 
pediments,  stood  open;  and  muslin  curtains,  lightly 
swaying  to  hardly  perceptible  airs,  spoke  of  lofty  and 
cool-breathing  rooms  within ;  upon  stone  coppices, 
in  and  out  of  curving  wrought-iron  balconies,  up 
to  the  very  dormers  clinging  to  the  bevelled  roof, 
flowers  gemmed  the  grey  walls. 

The  Doctor  ran  his  keen  eye  over  the  building  and 
rested  it  upon  a  certain  balcony  of  the  right  wing, 

"  Not  a  soul  stirring,"  he  muttered  to  himself. 
But  hereupon  his  further  advance  was  arrested  by  an 
explosive  apparition  of  colour  upon  the  balcony 
in  question.  In  flaming  reds  and  yellows,  it  seemed 
as  if  some  huge  tropical  bird  had  alighted  on  the 
sill.  Two  copper  claws  were  suddenly  extended  and 
snowy  filmy  garments  flew  out  in  clouds. 

*'  No  soul  indeed,  but  the  wholesomest  body  in  the 
world,"  said  Lebel  to  himself,  "  probably  for  that 
reason,"  he  added  cynically.  "  Hullo  !  Blanchctte, 
hullo,  my  fairest  of  snowdrops,"  cried  he,  in  a  rough 
good-humoured  shout,    "  Where  is  your  mistress?" 

A  grinning  copper  face,  shining  beneath  a  yellow 
and  red  turban,  was  instantly  protruded  over  the 
balcony  flowers. 

"  Hullo,  Doctor,  honey !  "  The  white  teeth  gleamed. 
"  Missie  very  busy.     Busy  dressing!  " 


6  THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"  Busy  dressing?  "  repeated  the  shabby  gentleman 
below ;  he  stood  with  his  legs  apart  and  his  mouth 
rounded  to  a  whistle  in  expressive  astonishment. 
"  That  is  a  strange  hearing !  " 

The  face  in  mid-air  grinned  till  the  vast  lips  could 
stretch  no  further. 

"Telegram  from  Massa  —  Massa  coming  home, 
'mediate.     I  'low  she  be  glad  !  " 

Blanchette  nodded  triumphantly,  again  shook  the 
delicate  draperies,  waved  them  like  a  flag  of  rejoicing 
and  disappeared,  followed  by  the  Doctor's  last  call 
which  rose  crescendo  to  a  bellow. 

"  I  am  very  glad  too.  But,  for  God's  sake,  tell  her 
I  want  her.     It 's  urgent,  my  dove  —  urgent !  " 

M.  Lebel  pushed  back  his  shapeless  panama  hat, 
scratched  his  grey  stubble,  and  reflected.  Then, 
shrugging  his  shoulders,  he  flung  himself  upon  a  high 
garden  chair  near  the  balustrade,  and  propping  his 
cheek  upon  his  stumpy  fingers  gazed  out  across  the 
valley. 

So  deeply  did  he  give  himself  up  to  contemplation 
that  the  fall  of  a  sedate  footstep  behind  him  seemed 
to  strike  deaf  ears;  and  it  was  only  when  a  quiet 
voice  sounded  upon  the  breath  of  a  sigh  above  his 
head  that  he  vouchsafed  any  consciousness  of  its 
owner's  large,  gentle  presence. 

"  Oh,  beautiful  France !  "  said  the  voice. 

"  Hein  !  "  said  the  Doctor,  just  shifting  his  position 
so  as  to  cast  a  good-humouredly  impatient  glance 
upwards.  "You,  Canon?  I  thought  I  knew  the 
slink  of  a  clerical  shoe." 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD  7 

The  Canon  of  Marly  —  Armand  de  Hauteroche 
would  have  been  his  name  in  the  world,  but  no  one 
in  the  district  ever  thought  of  him  but  as  "  our 
Canon"  —  the  Canon  of  Marly,  his  silver  head  bared, 
stood  a  moment  without  answering,  one  hand — the 
"  hand  of  a  prelate,"  as  the  saying  goes,  chiselled  as 
it  were  out  of  old  ivory  —  lightly  resting  on  the  stone 
of  the  terrace  balcony,  the  other  upon  the  back  of 
the  Doctor's  chair.  His  face,  large  yet  etherealised, 
serene  yet  deeply  worn,  was  turned  full  towards  the 
luminous  west,  and  his  eyes  gazed  forth  as  if  follow- 
ing some  elusive  vision.  His  cassock  fell  in  fine 
lines  around  a  portly  figure  to  which  the  folds  of  the 
purple  sash  lent  an  added  dignity.  So  exquisitely 
had  these  garments  been  brushed  and  mended  that 
it  would  have  required  a  very  close  inspection  to  dis- 
cover that  they  were  quite  as  ancient  as  the  Doctor's 
rusty  and  shapeless  frock-coat. 

"  In  truth,"  said  the  priest,  as  if  continuing  his 
thoughts  aloud,  "the  very  fairest  spot  in  the  fairest 
land  of  Christendom !  Of  just  such  a  beautiful 
corner  of  the  world  might  Horace  have  sung  — 

"  '  Ille  terrarum  mihi  praeter  omnes 
Angulus  ridet,  ubi  non  Hymetto 
Mella  decedunt.  .  .  .  ' 

They  knew  what  they  were  doing,  these  Fitzroys  of 
old,  when  they  planted  a  home  here."  Then,  bring- 
ing his  glance  back,  and  lightly  tapping  the  Doctor's 
shoulder.  **  Even  you,  the  boasted  practical  man, 
were  quite  lost  in  poetical  admiration  of  yonder 
golden  mists." 


8  THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  grunted  the  other,  sarcastically.  "  I 
could  write  a  charming  ode  on  the  subjects  of  golden 
mists  and  agues ;  also  on  the  loveliness  of  chattering 
teeth  and  livid  skins,  I  have  a  few  patients  among 
those  haunts  of  poetry.  As  to  the  famous  Fitzroys 
of  old,  their  terrace,"  he  went  on,  warming  to  his 
grumble,  and  bearing  down  an  incipient  attempt  at 
interruption,  "  their  terrace  —  I  will  say  this  for  it  —  is 
high  up,  and  that  is  good  for  our  bodies  at  least. 
And  it  looks  away  from  Paris  —  and  that  may  be  good 
for  what  you  are  pleased  to  call  our  souls." 

"  What !  "  cried  the  Canon,  "  do  I  live  to  hear 
reviled  the  Temple  of  Science,  the  home  of  advanced 
thought,  the  City  of  Light  itself?  I  thought  it  was 
reserved  for  narrow-minded  individuals  of  my  con- 
viction to  find  fault  with  Babylon.  .  .  .  Ah,  the 
terrible  Babylon!  .  .  .  And  yet,  when  I  gaze  forth 
upon  her  far  away  in  the  distance  from  my  window, 
I  see  the  spires  and  towers  of  her  churches  pierce 
heavenwards  through  the  mist  of  her  smoke,  and  I 
take  heart  of  grace  again." 

"  Well,  Canon,"  said  the  Doctor,  pushing  back 
his  chair  noisily,  rising  and  driving  his  hands  into 
his  waistcoat  pockets,  "  whenever  I  look  out  in  the 
direction  of  Paris,  I  see  the  elegant  contour  of  the 
Eiffel  Tower.  It  dominates  your  little  spires,  my 
poor  friend,  it  thrusts  its  skeleton  into  the  very  clouds. 
Try  and  get  a  glimpse  of  the  city,  east,  west,  north, 
or  south,  without  that  monument  of  modern  science 
jumping  into  your  eye  —  I  defy  you." 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  Canon,  mildly,  "  the  towers 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD  9 

ofNotre-Dame  these  eight  centuries  have  seen  the 
rise  and  fall  of  many  false  gods  —  the  Church  will 
save  France  yet." 

"  Pooh !  If  there  were  a  few  more  like  you,  I  '11 
not  say  but  what  a  score  of  honest,  wholesome  men 
might  at  least  improve  matters.  But  your  comrades 
over  yonder."  He  jerked  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder 
and  made  a  contemptuous  grimace.  Then,  throwing 
himself  into  his  favourite  attitude,  with  legs  well 
apart,  he  turned  truculently  upon  his  companion  — 
"Now,  what  brings  you  here,  I  should  like  to  know? 
This  is  not  the  begging  hour." 

"  Indeed,"  returned  the  other,  "  you  do  well  to 
remind  me  of  the  hour.  I  must  see  the  Duchess  at 
once." 

He  turned  with  some  appearance  of  haste  towards 
the  house,  but  the  Doctor  irreverently  arrested  him 
by  a  fold  of  his  cassock. 

"  Hey,  hey,"  cried  he,  "  not  so  fast !  Where  are 
you  off  to?  The  Duchess  is  coming.  Lord,  what 
youthful  paces  all  of  a  sudden,  my  good  fellow !  Is 
not  patience  one  of  the  canonical  virtues?  And 
besides,"  dropping  his  jeering  note  to  one  of  semi- 
serious  warning,  "  remember,  if  you  please,  that 
I  am  first  at  the  box-office.  Fall  in  in  rear,  my 
friend." 

Thus  adjured,  the  Canon  turned  with  his  unalter- 
able placidity,  and  letting  himself  subside  into  a 
wicker  chair,  rested  his  elbows  on  the  arms,  joined 
the  tips  of  his  fingers  and  smiled  upon  his  friend. 

"So  she  is  coming?  "  said  he.     "  Then  I  will  wait 


lo        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

• —  and  take  my  place  in  rear.  Well,  that  is  nothing 
new.  That  is  where  you  would  always  place  us, 
is  it  not?  But  the  last  shall  be  first,  it  hath  been 
said.  ..." 

The  Doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  took  a 
turn  or  two  along  the  blazing  geranium  border,  kick- 
ing up  the  gravel  as  he  paced  with  the  toes  of  his 
vast  wrinkled  shoes.  At  the  third  turn  he  halted 
before  the  Canon,  and  bent  down  to  look  at  him 
quizzically. 

"  Oh,  my  good  Canon,"  cried  he,  in  tones  of  rough 
affection,  "your  precious  mother,  the  Church,  can 
flatter  herself  to  have  spoilt  in  you  the  making  of  a 
very  fine  —  man !  " 

The  Canon  raised  long  drooping  lids.  "Oh,  my 
dear  Doctor,"  he  cooed  back,  "  the  World,  the  Flesh, 
and  the  Devil  can  flatter  themselves  to  have  spoilt  in 
you  the  making  of  a  very  fine — Christian.  But," 
said  the  priest,  comfortably,  dropping  his  eyes  again 
and  crossing  his  feet,  "  there  will  be  the  greater 
rejoicing  among  the  angels  upon  your  conversion." 

The  Doctor  started  and  snorted.  The  cleric 
chuckled  to  himself  in  the  renewed  enjoyment  of  a 
most  familiar  joke. 

"  Pooh,"  said  the  Doctor,  blowing  out  his  cheeks 
with  ineffable  scorn.  "  Sorry  for  those  pet  fowls  of 
yours  if  that  is  their  only  prospect  for  a  treat !  " 

There  was  a  pause,  and  the  gravel  flew  again  un- 
der an  irritable  foot.  Then  both  men  furtively  con- 
sulted their  watches.  The  Doctor,  wheeling  round, 
caught  the  Canon  in  the  act. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         ii 

"  Come,  come,"  said  he.  "  What  brings  you  here? 
I  know !  You  want  that  good  woman  there  "  — 
jerking  his  thumb  at  the  balcony  with  his  homely 
gesture  —  "  to  give  more  of  her  good  money  to  cram 
some  wretched  infant's  head  full  of  spiders'  webs 
about  the  next  world,  instead  of  bringing  him  up 
to  be  a  useful  member  of  this.  Or  some  of  those 
little  mewed-up  old  maids  of  yours  have  sent  you  to 
beg  for  a  new  doll  for  their  chapel.  ..." 

Here  the  speaker  interrupted  himself  by  tripping 
against  the  overflowing  work-basket  in  his  restless 
bear-walk.  He  stooped,  picked  up  between  his  finger 
and  thumb  a  piece  of  satin  vestment  gorgeously 
worked  with  purple  crosses,  and  surveyed  it  with 
great  disgust. 

"  Look  at  that  now — just  look  at  that!  A  pretty 
thing  for  a  woman  to  be  wasting  her  time  upon  whilst 
she  might  be  making  garments  for  the  naked."  Dr. 
Lebel  here  shook  the  offending  object  in  front  of  the 
Canon's  placid  nose.  "  Look  at  it,"  he  repeated. 
"  It  is  the  very  symbol  of  your  estate.  Oh,  it 's 
beautifully  decorated,  I  grant  you.  It  has  taken 
time  and  trouble,  and  some  intellect,  to  bring  it  to 
such  perfection!  But  what  is  it  for?  That's  what 
I  say,  what  is  the  end  of  it?  —  God  Almighty!  " 

The  little  man  furiously  dashed  the  piece  of  work 
into  the  basket  and  all  but  snapped  his  fingers  in 
derision. 

"  You  have  said  it,"  said  the  Canon.  "  The  end 
is  —  God  Almighty."  His  voice  rose  sonorously. 
He  extended  his  right  hand  with  one  slow  movement 


12        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

in  marked  contrast  to  his  interlocutor's  ceaseless  ges- 
ticulation, "  We  have  an  end,"  continued  the  Canon, 
"an  immortal  one.  And  this  is  where  we  differ  from 
you.  What  is  your  end  !  You  will  say  with  magni- 
ficence :  Humanity.  Humanity?  In  other  words, 
Corruption,  Death,  and  —  according  to  your  scientific 
creed  —  Annihilation." 

The  Doctor  stared  with  goggling,  angry  eyes 
through  his  spectacles  and  turned  several  scathing 
but  chaotic  retorts  upon  an  eager  tongue.  The  other 
smiled,  and  reaching  out  his  arms,  drew  the  work- 
basket  to  him. 

"  Besides,"  pursued  he,  gently,  "  may  not  our  friend 
embroider  a  pretty  thing  now  and  again,  were  it  only 
as  a  relaxation,  after  such  work  as  this?  " 

As  he  spoke  he  produced  from  the  recesses  of  the 
basket  a  knitted  mass  of  coarse  crimson  wool  and 
shook  it  out:  a  petticoat  complete,  of  vast  and 
hideous  proportions,  but  a  most  comfortable  promise 
of  warmth. 

The  Doctor  still  glared.  Then  he  suddenly  snatched 
the  garment  from  the  Canon  and  began  to  roll  it  up 
with  almost  infantile  glee. 

"  Aha !  "  cried  he.  "  Did  you  there,  at  least,  my 
friend  !     This  is  for  my  old  lady  with  the  sciatica." 

The  deeper  note  of  the  cleric's  indulgent  laughter 
mingled  with  the  layman's  cachinnations. 

•'  Doctor,  Doctor,"  cried  the  Canon,  shaking  a 
prophetic  finger,  "we  shall  see  you  on  your  knees 
yet." 


CHAPTER   II 

AT  the  top  of  the  steps  leading  into  the  house, 
framed  in  the  darkness  of  the  open  doorway, 
stood  the  Duchess  of  Cluny,  clad  in  white. 
Shading  her  eyes  from  the  level  sun-rays,  she  looked 
smilingly  down  upon  the  friendly  belligerents.  A 
large  tan-coloured  hound  bounded  past  her,  careered 
out  upon  the  terrace,  circled  in  a  large  sweeping 
canter  round  the  gossips  and  returned  to  thrust  his 
head  under  his  mistress's  hand.  Both  men  started, 
with  a  look  of  pleasure  on  their  faces. 

"  There  she  comes,"  said  the  Canon,  rising. 

"  At  last !  "  said  the  Doctor,  as  he  swept  his  panama 
from  his  bristling  grey  head. 

The  Duchess  came  down  towards  them,  walking 
rather  quickly,  and  stretching  out  both  her  hands. 
The  sunshine  lit  with  gold  the  waves  of  her  brown 
hair  as  she  advanced  bareheaded  into  the  still,  soft, 
scented  air.  She  was  a  tall  woman,  with  a  classic 
breadth  of  shoulder  and  length  of  limb,  with  proud 
set  of  head  contradicted  by  a  gentleness  of  gaze  that 
was  almost  timid. 

The  Duchess  of  Cluny  (born  Helen  Church)  was 
one  of  those  rare  flowers  which,  blossoming  upon 


14         THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

the  fine  old  Anglo-Saxon  stock,  seem,  in  the  soil  and 
air  of  the  New  World,  to  have  drawn  unto  themselves 
a  special  perfection  and  vigour  of  beauty;  one  of 
these  beings,  rich  in  health,  in  strength,  fortune,  and 
looks,  which  America  from  time  to  time  sends  over 
to  old  Europe  to  revive  some  grand  decaying  race 
and  fitly  wear  the  coronet  of  some  majestic  title. 

There  was  nothing  that  betokened  delicacy  in  the 
creamy  pallor  of  her  cheek.  There  was  nothing  of 
insipidity  in  the  loveliness  of  her  face,  which  was 
saved  from  the  dulness  of  perfection  by  one  or  two 
charming  irregularities :  a  deep  dimple  on  one  side 
of  curving  lips  that  were  ever  inclined  to  part  in  a 
sweet  eager  way  over  the  most  faultless  teeth  in  all 
the  world ;  eyebrows  perhaps  a  little  too  straight 
and  thick,  over  child's  eyes,  deep  grey,  with  pupils 
dilating  darkly  under  the  smallest  emotion. 

Every  year  of  the  well-filled  thirty-five  of  this 
woman's  life  had  added  its  touch  in  dignity  and  in  a 
motherly  richness  of  figure  and  expression ;  and  yet, 
perhaps,  the  most  noticeable  thing  about  her  counte- 
nance was  an  expression  of  almost  girlish  innocence. 

The  two  men  who  now  advanced  towards  her  both 
looked  on  her,  after  their  different  kind,  as  one  looks 
upon  the  dearest  on  earth. 

"  My  good  friends,"  she  said,  yielding  her  right 
hand  to  the  Canon  and  the  left  to  the  Doctor.  Then 
to  the  latter :  "  Ah,"  said  she,  "  I  see  you  have 
already  been  at  my  basket !  Now  what  do  you  want 
of  me?" 

She   released   their   fingers  with   a   little   friendly 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         15 

shake,  subsided  into  one  of  the  wioker  chairs,  and 
folded  her  draperies  round  her. 

"  Oh,  you  come  at  the  right  moment,  you  two," 
she  went  on,  with  a  new  note  in  her  voice,  Hke  a 
joy-bell.  "What  could  I  refuse  to  any  one  now? 
Cluny  is  coming  home  —  coming  home  to-day!" 

She  looked  from  one  to  the  other  triumphantly. 
They  were  both  very  glad ;  she  saw  that,  and  she 
was  satisfied.  She  did  not  realise  that  their  gladness 
was  all  because  of  hers. 

"  I  must  not  be  selfish,"  she  went  on  with  a  happy 
sigh.     "  What  do  you  want?  " 

Eagerly  the  Doctor  drew  a  chair  beside  her. 
"  Madam,"  said  he,  extending  his  stumpy  fingers 
oratorically. 

"  Indeed,"  began  the  Canon  on  the  other  side,  with 
quite  an  unusual  emphasis. 

"  No,  Doctor,  no,"  said  she,  smiling,  as  they 
abruptly  halted  and  contemplated  each  other  with 
discontent;  "the  Church  first." 

Hereupon  the  little  man  grew  desperately  sombre ; 
he  pushed  his  spectacles  back  on  his  forehead, 
screwed  up  his  eyes  and  wrung  his  nether  lip  be- 
tween an  angry  finger  and  thumb. 

A  shade  fell  upon  the  Duchess's  face.  Looking 
earnestly  at  him: 

"Oh,  is  it  as  bad  as  that?"  she  cried.  "Then, 
Canon,  we  must  let  him  have  his  say  first,  for  you 
know,  when  our  Doctor  plants  his  spectacles  that 
way,  it's  a  matter  of  life  and  death." 

"  But  I,  too,"  urged  the  priest,  with  gentle  authority, 


i6        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"  am  here  upon  a  matter  of  the  most  immediate 
importance." 

The  Doctor  exploded.  "  Oh,  yes,  of  course  —  some 
hysterical  washing-girl  has  worked  herself  into  a 
vocation  mania  and  requires  an  outfit,  or  something. 
Now,  listen  to  me " 

The  Canon  of  Marly  lived  under  a  chastened 
ordinance,  but  he  too  was  human:  it  was  not  meet 
the  Church  should  give  way  to  the  laity. 

The  Duchess  sat  between  the  two  estates  with  a 
placidity  that  showed  her  to  be  well  accustomed  to 
such  scenes.  Indeed,  the  smile  with  which  she 
regarded  them  had  something  quaintly  maternal  in 
its  indulgent  patience. 

"  It  is  a  most  pitiable  case,"  entoned  the  priest  in 
her  ear,  while,  now  fairly  roused,  the  layman  bellowed 
on  the  other  side : 

"Bernard's  girl " 

Then  both  mingled  their  accents  of  wrath  and 
sorrow  in  the  same  words :  "  Poor  little  Rose  — 
dying!  —  in  an  outhouse!"  They  stopped  dead 
short,  and  glared.  After  a  second  their  faces  relaxed 
as  if  by  magic ;  with  the  same  movement  they  clasped 
hands  across  the  Duchess's  knees. 

"  Oh !  what  an  apostle  lost  to  us !  "  murmured 
the  Canon,  audibly,  as  he  half  turned  away  to  hunt 
for  his  snuff-box  in  the  folds  of  his  cassock. 

"  What  a  splendid  fellow  that  might  have  been  !  " 
growled  Dr.  Lebel. 

Helen  had  risen  abruptly.  "  Stop !  "  she  cried, 
"let   me   understand.     Why,  you   are   both  talking 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         17 

about  Rose,  then.  Did  you  say  that  Bernard's  child, 
our  little  innocent  Rose,  has  come  back  —  ill?" 

"  Alas !  "  said  the  priest,  "  no  longer  innocent 
Rose.     Ah,  that  Paris !  "  sighed  he. 

"  Ah,  yes,  Paris !  "  echoed  the  Doctor,  and  shook 
his  fist  in  the  direction  of  the  east.  Then,  with  un- 
abashed inconsequence,  he  went  on,  glowering  upon 
the  priest :  "  She  has  come  back  fearfully  ill,  that  is 
what  it  is.  And  her  pious,  confession-going,  fasting 
father  has  turned  her  out  to  die.  Betrayed  by  one 
man,  condemned  by  another.  .  ,  .  for  that 's  the 
justice  of  well-organised  society !  " 

"My  God!"  exclaimed  Helen.  "Betrayed,  that 
child  !  Doctor,  you  must  believe  in  a  God,  if  only 
for  the  punishment  of  such  crimes.  If  Cluny  were 
here,  how  his  generous  soul  would  flame !  And 
Bernard  has  cast  her  off  ...  oh !  that  is  cruel." 
Her  lip  quivered ;  tears  leaped  to  her  eyes.  But 
she  was  a  woman  whose  pity  was  prompt  to  action. 
"  She  must  be  brought  here.  Here  we  can  take 
care  of  her."  She  laid  her  hand  on  the  Doctor's 
coat  sleeve,  and  turned  an  imploring  face  over 
her  shoulder  towards  the  priest.  "  Oh,  my  good 
friends,  hurry !  I  would  go  with  you,  but  she 
might  be  ashamed  to  see  me  —  poor  thing  !  Stay  ! 
I  will  send  Blanchette:  she  has  known  her  from  a 
child." 

She  moved  swiftly  towards  the  house  as  she  spoke, 
followed  by  her  satellites. 

"  Yes,"  remarked  the  Doctor,  looking  with  a  fresh 
vindictiveness    at   his    beloved    enemy,    "  a   negress, 


i8        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

there 's  one  comfort,  will  remain  heathen  at  heart  till 
her  last  breath." 

He  broke  into  what  was  almost  a  trot  in  order  to 
have  the  first  voice  in  the  preparations.  But  from 
the  steps  he  turned  again  to  jeer  at  the  more  digni- 
fied advance  of  the  older  man : 

"  I  thought  you  would  have  run  to  the  prodigal, 
Canon.  Now  mark,  I  won't  have  her  preached  at; 
she  is  not  in  a  state  to  bear  it." 

The  Church  had  the  last  word.  "I  only  ask 
to  come  in,"  it  said  sedately,  "where  your  science 
fails." 


CHAPTER   III 

SEVERAL  guests  were  expected  that  afternoon  at 
Luciennes.  On  three  several  occasions  the  sun- 
lit, hitherto  drowsy,  courtyard  had  been  filled 
with  movement  and  clangour. 

The  barouche,  the  stout  prancing  bays  and  the  fat 
first  coachman  in  person,  in  fact,  the  equipage  of 
great  occasions,  to  start  early  for  Paris  and  bring 
back  Madame  la  Marquise  de  Lormes,  her  son,  Mon- 
sieur le  Marquis  and  party  from  the  family  mansion 
in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain ;  the  victoria  to  meet 
M.  Favereau  at  four-ten,  with  the  second  coachman 
and  the  roans;  English  John  to  be  at  Rueil  before 
five,  with  the  Duke's  own  American  trotter  and 
the  dog-cart,  —  such  had  been  the  orders  of  the 
Duchess. 

It  was  not  often  that  such  an  influx  was  expected 
at  the  chateau,  and  the  stately  placid  routine  of  the 
establishment  was  pleasantly  fluttered. 

The  hostess  herself,  immediately  upon  the  speeding 
of  her  new  charitable  undertaking,  had  been  moved 
into  the  unwonted  fussiness  of  inspecting  the  guests' 
apartments  for  the  second  time.  She  had  added 
certain  pleasing  volumes  to  the  collection  already 
awaiting  M.  Favereau  near  his  consecrated   corner 


20        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

window;  had  placed  a  specially  selected  picture  (of 
austere  religious  character)  on  the  cabinet  facing 
Madame  la  Marquise's  canopied  bed.  In  the  apart- 
ment of  the  Marquis  she  had  ordered  the  lighting 
of  a  small  wood  fire  with  a  sudden  recollection  of 
that  young  nobleman's  chilly  propensities. 

Upon  the  other  hand,  in  the  room  destined  to  the 
Marquise's  eldest  son,  by  a  former  marriage  —  the 
American  sailor  cousin,  fresh  from  the  great  wave 
spaces  and  the  salt  breezes  —  she  superintended  the 
flinging  open  of  both  windows,  the  removal  of  super- 
fluous furniture  as  well  as  the  laying  bare  of  the  cool 
parquet  floor. 

In  her  husband's  room  she  lingered,  but  found 
little  to  alter.  Here  the  most  divining  care  had 
already  been  expended.  She  moved  a  vase  of  his 
favourite  monthly  roses,  only  to  replace  them  in 
their  first  position.  A  little  while  she  gazed  dreamily 
at  the  full  length  portrait  of  herself,  Carolus  Duran's 
most  delicate  masterpiece,  the  only  picture  on  the 
simple  and  lofty  panelled  walls ;  then  gravely  and 
anxiously  she  turned  to  contemplate  the  riper  beauty 
imaged  in  the  dressing-table  mirror,  caught  the  gleam 
of  a  white  hair  in  the  full  wave  upon  her  brow,  and 
pulled  it  out. 

In  yet  another  chamber  did  her  steps  linger. 
This  was  a  little  room  opposite  her  own  apartment, 
all  white  and  rosy  (colours  of  innocence  and  happi- 
ness), all  muslin  and  lace,  overlooking  the  rosiest, 
most  smiling  and  most  flowered  corner  of  the  gardens 
—  a  very  bower,  one  would  say,  for   some  young 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD        21 

princess !  It  was  already  known  in  Luciennes  as 
**  Mademoiselle's  room."  For  more  than  a  fortnight 
its  preparation  had  been  the  subject  of  the  Duchess's 
constant  preoccupation.  The  household,  indeed,  were 
considerably  exercised  in  their  minds  concerning  the 
identity  of  its  future  occupant,  more  especially  as 
Madame  Blanchette,  who  seemed  to  be  her  mistress's 
only  confidant  on  the  subject,  had  gratified  her  fellow- 
servants'  curiosity  no  further  than  by  the  remark: 
"  Missie  want  somethin'  young  about  de  house." 
Here  Helen  seemed  to  find  a  thousand  little 
touches  to  add ;  and  only  the  grating  sweep  of  the 
gilt  iron  gateway,  followed  by  the  crunching  of 
wheels,  aroused  her  from  this  work  of  supererogation 
to  more  immediate  concerns.  But  the  dreamy  smile 
which  it  had  called  forth  was  still  upon  her  lips  as 
she  descended  the  stairs  in  that  inimitable  swift  ad- 
vance of  hers  which  never  betrayed  hurry,  to  greet 
her  first  visitor,  M.  Jaques  Favereau,  a  minister 
of  France,  her  oldest  friend  in  that  land  of  her 
adoption. 

This  was  a  tall,  elderly,  witty-looking  man,  with  a 
grey  beard  clipped  to  a  point,  and  a  slight  stoop  from 
the  neck  emphasising  the  keen  look  of  the  short- 
sighted eyes  behind  a  pince-nez.  A  distinguished- 
looking  man  with  the  red  rosette  of  the  Legion  of 
Honour  (in  his  case,  it  seemed,  honour  in  the  right 
place)  peeping  from  the  button-hole  of  his  summer 
suit.  A  man  of  the  world,  who  walked  with  easy 
tread  between  the  assembled  footmen  into  the  great 
hall  and  swept  his  hat  from  his  head  upon  sight  of 


22        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

his  hostess  with  the  affectionate  gesture  of  one  more 
than  sure  of  his  welcome. 

"  So,  there  you  are,  Favereau,"  she  said,  halting 
upon  the  last  two  steps  of  the  stairs  and  extending 
her  hand,  which  he  raised  to  his  lips  and  retained  for 
a  moment;  whereupon,  descending  to  his  level  and 
laying  her  left  hand  over  his  own,  she  offered  her 
forehead  to  his  salute.  Then,  hanging  on  his  arm, 
"Come  outside,"  said  she.  "Oh,  I  have  so  many 
things  to  tell  you !  " 

In  the  outer  world  the  flight  of  another  hour  had 
deepened  the  gold  of  the  lengthening  sunrays,  shot 
the  distant  mists  with  soft  mauves  and  purples,  and 
evoked  from  the  dim  leafy  bowers  of  the  gardens  the 
evening  voice  of  thrush  and  blackbird. 

"There  is  nothing  in  all  the  universe,"  said 
Favereau,  sinking  into  a  wicker  lounge,  "  so  comfort- 
able as  my  chair  upon  your  terrace,  Helen." 

"  How  good  of  you,"  she  responded,  as,  settled 
among  her  cushions,  she  mechanically  extended  her 
hand  for  her  work-basket,  "  to  leave  your  great  Paris, 
and  your  post  at  the  helm,  for  our  sleepy,  quiet 
corner." 

"  Good  of  me !  "  he  echoed,  and  laughed  a  little 
to  himself.  Then,  dropping  his  glasses  from  his  nose, 
and  turning  his  short-sighted  gaze  upon  her  with  a 
kind  of  tender  relaxation  that  spread  to  all  the  muscles 
of  his  strung-up  nervous  face :  "  Why,  my  dear,"  he 
said,  "  you  have  re-established  here  a  bit  of  our  lost 
Eden.  I  turn  my  face  towards  it,  from  the  turmoil 
yonder  —  turmoil  indeed   since   the  opening  of  this 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         23 

exhibition  —  as  an  exile  towards  home.     This  place 
is  my  paradise." 

"It  is  odd  that  you  should  use  the  word,"  said 
the  Duchess.  And,  dropping  the  glowing  strip  of 
satin  upon  her  lap,  she  Hfted  her  hands  to  the  laces 
upon  her  bosom.  "  That  is  just  what  Cluny  said  !  " 
She  drew  from  its  hiding-place  a  thin  blue  sheet  of 
paper  and  smoothed  it  with  loving  touch.  **  Listen : 
•  I  return  home  to-day.  Home  to  my  paradise.' 
Fancy,  in  a  telegram !  Is  he  not  a  foolish  boy?  "  She 
glanced  up  at  her  old  friend  as  she  spoke,  with  a 
pride  of  joy  that  was  well-nigh  virginal  in  its  open 
simplicity.  "And  is  not  it  good  news  for  me?  And 
are  not  you  glad?  "  she  pursued.  "  For,  as  I  wrote 
to  you,  he  did  not  think  he  could  get  back  before 
another  five  days.  It  is  a  pity  our  estates  are  so 
much  scattered,"  she  went  on  with  a  little  sigh. 
"  Their  administration  calls  him  away  so  often.  But 
I  cannot  wish  him  not  to  be  a  good  landlord,  can 
I  ?  "  folding  the  telegram  once  more  and  replacing  it 
absently. 

"  Of  course  not,"  responded  M.  Favereau,  gravely. 
And  there  fell  a  little  silence. 

This  the  man  presently  broke,  briskly  calling  Helen 
back  from  some  far-off  dream  in  which,  upon  the 
mysterious  passionate  hymning  of  the  thrush,  her 
thoughts  had  wandered. 

"  You  look  very  well,  Helen,"  said  he,  "  very  well," 

"  How  could  it  be  otherwise,"  she  cried,  "  when 
Cluny  is  coming  home?  Home-coming  makes  up 
for  all.     Oh,  I  am  well:  you  see,  I  am  so  happy! 


24        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Dear  old  Favereau,"  she  went  on,  stretching  out  her 
hand  to  him,  "  I  hardly  like  to  talk  about  it !  One 
should  have,  I  think,  the  modesty  of  one's  happiness. 
But  with  you,  you  to  whom,  after  all,  we  owe  it,  you 
who  made  us  known  to  each  other,  I  cannot  have 
this  reserve.  You  have  seen  for  yourself!  You 
know !  " 

Favereau  gently  laid  her  hand  back  upon  her  knee. 

"  Yes,"  said  he  in  an  unemotional  voice,  "  I  know, 
I  have  seen." 

She  did  not  seem  to  feel  any  lack  in  his  manner ; 
her  face,  under  the  glow  of  her  thoughts,  had  grown 
radiant. 

"Oh,  Cluny  is  a  man!  "  she  cried.  "You  always 
laughed  at  me  from  my  very  childhood  for  my 
romantic  dreams.  You  know  how  high  I  always 
placed  my  ideal  of  the  man  I  could  love.  Ah  I  you 
can  guess  then  what  Cluny  has  been  to  me  when  I 
tell  you,  after  all  these  years,  that  he  has  never  once 
failed  me,  never  once  fallen  from  it.  .  .  .  Why  do 
you  look  like  that?" 

Favereau  started  slightly,  determinedly  swept  from 
his  face  by  a  kind  wrinkling  smile  the  unconscious 
gravity,  amounting  almost  to  trouble,  which  had 
settled  upon  it. 

"I?"  said  he.  "Oh,  only  for  the  old  reason! 
You  build  too  high,  Helen,  I  have  often  warned  you 
—  too  high  for  safety." 

"Ah!"  cried  she,  with  shining  eyes,  "if  Cluny 
for  all  these  years  had  not  surrounded  me  with  the 
most  delicate,  the  most  untiring  love,  I  should  have 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         25 

to  worship  him  now  for  his  last  act  of  goodness 
to  me." 

Favereau  clipped  the  fine  bridge  of  his  nose  with 
his  pince-nez  once  more  and  turned  a  quizzical 
inquisitive  look  upon  her. 

"  Indeed?  And  what,"  said  he,  "  is  this  wonderful 
new  proof  of  our  Edward's  goodness?" 

"  That  was  one  of  the  things  I  had  to  tell  you." 
Here  a  shade  of  embarrassment  overspread  the 
eagerness  of  her  countenance.  She  took  up  her 
neglected  work  and  began  to  stitch  with  great  vigour. 
After  a  few  seconds  she  pursued  hesitatingly:  "  It  is 
rather  a  long  story,  and  a  sad  one.  And  you  do  not 
like  long  stories.  And  you  know  you  hate  sad 
ones." 

"  How  now !  "  cried  he.  "  You  have  that  sort  of 
guilty  look  upon  you  that  generally  proclaims  some 
more  than  usually  outrageous  St.  Elizabeth  of  Hun- 
gary business." 

He  laughed,  but  she  put  up  her  hands  quickly,  as 
if  to  ward  off  a  blow. 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,"  she  exclaimed  with  a  cry. 

"  My  dear  child " 

"  God  took  her  husband  from  her,"  said  Helen, 
in  a  sort  of  whisper,  her  lips  trembling.  "Oh,  no, 
Favereau,  indeed  I  am  not  a  saint !  And  indeed  I 
don't  want  to  be  a  saint !  Saints  have  such  sad  lives, 
and  I  am  so  happy  !  " 

There  was  a  short  silence.  M.  Favereau,  Minister 
of  Public  Worship  and  Education,  took  off  his  glasses, 
rubbed   them   between    his   finger   and   thumb    and 


i6        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

cleared  his  throat.  For  a  moment,  it  seemed,  suitable 
words  with  which  to  continue  the  conversation  failed 
him.     Then  he  once  more  mentally  shook  himself. 

"  Come,  Helen,"  said  he,  "  confession  is  good  for 
the  soul ! " 

She  glanced  at  him  quickly  from  her  work :  timid 
eyes  were  hers  from  under  the  queenly  brow. 

"  My  old  mentor,"  said  she,  "  yes  !  " 


CHAPTER   IV 

"TTAVE  you  ever  heard,"  said  the  Duchess,  after 

J_  _f_   a  pause,  and  once  more  placid,  smoothing  out 
the  vestment  upon  her  knee,  "  of  a  Madame 
Cora  May?" 

M.  Favereau  jumped  in  his  chair.  "  Cora  May, 
hey  .  .  .  ?  You  don't  mean  the  Cora  May,  la  belle 
Cora,  as  they  called  her?" 

"  I  think  there  was  only  one,"  said  Helen,  gently, 
as  she  threaded  a  new  strand  of  rose  silk. 

Favereau  sank  back  in  his  chair  and  began  to  gaze 
at  the  deepening  blue  sky  with  the  air  of  one  deter- 
mined to  be  surprised  at  nothing. 

"I  have  heard  of  the  lady,"  he  remarked  at  length. 

*'  She  is  dead,"  said  Helen,  iij  her  grave  voice  of 
pity. 

Favereau  still  found  interest  in  atmospheric  con- 
templation, 

"  I  believe,"  said  he,  "  that  I  did  read  some  edify- 
ing obituary  notices." 

Helen's  needle  halted  in  mid-air ;  she  gazed  dream- 
ily out  towards  the  gorgeous  west. 

"  Very  few  people,"  she  observed  into  space, 
"  knew  that  woman  as  I  did." 


28         THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Favereau  gathered  his  long  limbs  together  with  a 
jerk. 

"Hein  !  "  he  ejaculated. 

"  I  knew  her  heroic  goodness,"  said  the  Duchess, 
looking  steadily  at  him,  with  just  a  shade  of  severity. 

"  Aha !  "  said  the  man,  clasping  his  hands  over  his 
knees  and  staring  at  her  with  a  blank  countenance. 

"  Ah !  you  may  laugh  if  you  like,"  she  cried 
quickly. 

*'I?"  interrupted  he.  "Laugh?  Where  do  you 
see  that?" 

Helen's  cheek  flushed.  She  had  the  sweetest  blood 
in  all  the  world,  but  it  was  prompt  to  rise. 

"  I  don't  want  to  understand  what  you  mean,"  she 
exclaimed  indignantly.  "  I  don't  want  to  know  into 
what  folly,  what  misery  the  poor  creature  fell.  She 
was  impulsive,  passionate.  She  was  a  desolate 
woman ;  she  became  desperate." 

Favereau's  eyes  softened  once  again  with  a  wonder- 
ful tenderness,  as  he  gazed  upon  this  most  cherished 
child  of  happiness  kindling  in  generous  defence  of  an 
unfortunate  sister. 

"  But,  Helen,"  said  he,  after  a  little  pause,  in  his 
cool  voice,  "where  co\x\d you  have  met  Cora  May  ?" 

"Ah,  not  where  you  would  have  met  her,  sir! 
In  poverty-stricken  hovels,  in  sad  hospital  wards. 
.  .  .  What  that  woman  did,  unknown  to  the  world,  in 
the  ways  of  charity,  passes  all  I  can  tell  you." 

"  So  that  was  how  you  met,"  said  Favereau,  mus- 
ingly. He  sank  back  into  his  seat;  and  closing  his 
eyes,  seemed  to  fall  into  a  deep  reverie. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD        29 

Helen  threw  a  glance  at  him  as  if  of  apology  for 
her  heat  of  speech,  and  took  up  her  work  again. 
The  pause  that  fell,  filled  up  by  the  dreamy  song  of 
the  thrush  and  the  rising  scent  of  the  geranium  leaves, 
was  a  lengthy  one.  Twice  or  three  times  the  Duchess 
attempted  to  break  it,  but  hesitated  upon  the  choice 
of  the  right  word.  At  last,  stitching  very  fast,  and 
without  glancing  up,  she  remarked  in  an  elaborately 
matter-of-fact  manner : 

"  The  poor  thing  had  a  child." 

Favereau  half  opened  one  eye  and  closed  it  again. 

"  Ah  !  "  commented  he. 

"  Listen,  Favereau,"  said  she,  with  a  sudden  plead- 
ing earnestness.  "That  mother  had  the  courage  to 
give  up  her  little  daughter  before  the  babe  could 
know  her,  lest  any  contamination  should  fall  upon 
its  innocence.  The  child  has  been  brought  up  as  an 
orphan,  at  some  school  in  the  provinces.  The  mother 
never  allowed  herself  to  see  it,  even  as  a  stranger. 
Oh,  am  I  not  right  in  thinking  that  if  there  is  atone- 
ment before  Heaven,  its  gates  were  not  shut  to  Cora 
May?" 

"Who  knows?"  said  the  man,  dreamily,  without 
opening  his  eyes.     "  You  at  least  will,  some  day." 

"  Her  one  thought  then,"  pursued  Helen,  unheed- 
ing, "was  her  child.  She  had  put  by  quite  a  little 
fortune  for  her." 

"  I  thought,"  he  broke  in  again,  still  in  the  same 
manner,  "  she  died  penniless." 

"  So  she  did,  poor  thing!  She  was  too  eager.  It 
was  through  want  that  she  herself  had  fallen:  she 


<^ 


30        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

wanted  her  child,  since  she  could  do  no  more  for  her, 
to  be  rich,  to  be  safe !  She  lost  all  at  one  stroke  in  I 
know  not  what  speculation.  And  it  killed  her !  Now 
we  had  not  met  very  often.  We  could  not  have  had 
much  in  common,  of  course ;  but  we  were  attracted  to 
each  other,  I  think.  She  looked  so  unhappy !  " 
"  That,  of  course,  was  sufficient  to  attract  you  !  " 
"  I  longed  to  help  her,  but  she  never  spoke  about 
herself.  Only  once,  as  we  parted,  she  whispered  into 
my  ear,  *  Pray  for  me ! '  A  few  weeks  ago  I  was 
amazed  to  receive  a  letter  from  her.  She  wrote  that 
she  was  dying,  and  would  I,  of  my  charity,  go  and 
see  her?" 

"  And  of  course,  of  your  charity,  you  went." 
"Of  course,"  cried  she;  and,  throwing  to  the 
winds  all  diplomatic  preparation  for  her  difficult 
avowal,  proceeded  eagerly :  "  Oh,  Favereau,  it  was 
the  saddest  thing  I  have  ever  seen !  She  was  struck 
down  in  the  very  plenitude  of  life.  In  painfully 
drawn  words,  for  she  had  hardly  breath  left  to  speak 
with,  she  told  me  of  the  child,  of  her  own  life.  I 
held  the  poor  creature's  ice-cold  hands,  the  chill  of 
death  was  on  her,  but  yet  she  blushed — blushed  in 
her  shame  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  wet  already  with 
the  death-sweat.  *  In  my  desolation,'  she  said,  'the 
thought  of  you  came  to  me  like  the  vision  of  an 
angel.  You  are  rich,  you  are  powerful,  and  you 
are  all  goodness,*  that  is  what  she  said,  you  know. 
She  said  to  me :  '  Of  your  charity,  will  you  save  my 
child?'" 

Favereau  slowly  opened  both  his  eyes.     "  And  of 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         31 

your  charity,"  said  he,  in  the  same  lazy,  cooing  way, 
"  you  promised." 

"  Of  course,"  she  echoed  impatiently.  Then,  turning 
brightly  upon  her  friend,  "  I  got  all  the  documents, 
then  and  there.  I  left  her,  I  think,  in  peace."  She 
paused,  then  flushing,  "  The  little  one,"  she  pursued, 
"was  born  in  spring,  so  she  told  me,  and  the  young 
father  and  mother  called  her  '  Gioja,'  because  of  their 
happiness  then."  Divinely  deep  grew  the  scarlet  on 
the  Duchess's  cheek,  but  she  looked  steadily  at  her 
friend.  *'  It  was  all  very,  very  sad ;  he,  the  young 
husband,  died  in  May,  and  she  in  time  fell  into  pro- 
found poverty,  and  then  —  and  then  it  was  she  became 
known  as  Cora  May  .  .  .  and  had  to  give  up  her 
Gioja." 

Favereau  was  gazing  straight  before  him.  "  Gio- 
ja !  "  he  repeated  musingly,  "  Joy,  the  most  evanes- 
cent, the  most  capricious  of  all  human  emotions  — 
the  folly  of  trying  to  perpetuate  it  in  a  poor  little 
human  monument!" 

After  a  moment  Helen  resumed  simply:  "The 
child  comes  home  to-day." 

"  The  child  comes  home  to-day !  " 

Favereau  sprang  to  his  feet  with  an  inarticulate 
sound  suggestive  of  sudden  choking. 

"The  child  comes  —  home.  My  God,  what  mad- 
ness are  you  planning !  " 

As  he  rose,  so  did  she,  and  turned  and  faced  him 
in  beautiful  defiance,  their  eyes  nearly  on  a  level. 

"  Ah,  you  men  of  the  world,"  she  cried,  "  that  is 
always  your   cant   phrase  when  any  one  has   been 


32        THE    SECRET   ORCHARD 

inspired  to  do  some  little  deed  of  goodness  out  of 
the  beaten  track !  Thank  heaven  my  Cluny  is  made 
of  nobler  stuff!  "  She  caught  both  his  hands,  and 
shook  them  backwards  and  forwards  to  emphasise 
her  words.  "  Favereau,  before  even  I  had  time  to 
explain  my  wish  to  Cluny,  to  tell  him  what  I  knew 
of  the  mother  of  the  child  herself,  he  forestalled  me. 
'  You  want  to  have  the  little  one  here,'  he  said ;  '  very 
well,  adopt  her  if  you  want  to.  We  will  give  her  a 
home,  and  when  the  time  comes,  we  '11  find  her  a 
husband.' " 

"  Pray,  my  dear  Helen,"  said  the  Minister  of  Public 
Worship  and  Education,  recovering  his  self-control, 
"  release  my  hands  and  allow  me  to  wipe  the  drops 
of  consternation,  which  the  very  thought  of  your 
rashness  has  started  on  my  brow.  Oh,  I  am  not  in 
the  least  surprised  at  your  husband's  behaviour:  that 
is  Cluny  all  over  —  inconceivably  light-minded ! 
However,  it  will  not  do  either  of  you  much  harm,  I 
dare  say,  to  learn  for  yourselves  that  all  your  inspira- 
tions are  not  necessarily  happy  ones.  After  a  few 
weeks*  experimentalising  with  governesses,  you  will 
probably  realise  the  inexpediency  of  turning  Lu- 
ciennes  into  an  orphan  asylum.  No  doubt  you  will 
find  some  excellent  school  for  the  embarrassing 
child." 

The  Duchess  had  dropped  her  mentor's  hands  as 
requested,  and  was  now  looking  down  at  her  own 
taper  fingers.  A  cloud  of  embarrassment  had  dimmed 
her  radiant  confidence. 

"The  child?"  she  said,  with  a  laugh  that  strove 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD        23 

to  be  airy.  "  Unfortunately,  my  old  Favereau,  the 
child  is  —  is  eighteen." 

Upon  hearing  this  culminating  and  crushing  detail 
the  gentleman's  feelings  became  too  deep  for  words. 
Casting  on  her  one  look  of  despair  that  was  almost 
comic  in  its  intensity,  he  turned  away  and  began  to 
pace  the  gravel  with  irritable  steps. 

Helen  looked  after  him,  half  laughing,  half  apolo- 
getic.    Presently  she  ran  up  to  his  side. 

"  And  the  little  one  is  coming  to-day !  "  she  cried, 
with  a  sort  of  child-like  glee  at  having  at  last  exposed 
the  full  extent  of  her  mischief.  "  And  Aunt  Harriet 
is  actually  chaperoning  her,  and  I  have  prepared  such 
a  little  nest  for  her,  poor  bird !  And  in  fine,  Faver- 
eau, my  heart  is  so  full  that  there  is  not  room  for  a 
drop  more.  Oh,  don't  be  hard  on  me,  old  friend !  " 
she  cried,  changing  her  note.  "  Folly  is  divine  some- 
times.    Can  I  not  at  least //^^  at  being  a  mother?  " 

The  man  stopped  in  his  walk,  laid  his  hands  upon 
her  shoulders,  and  looked  down  into  her  face  with 
eyes  at  once  fatherly,  lover-like,  and  reverential. 

"  Play  at  being  a  mother,"  he  repeated.  "  Why, 
my  dear,  you  are  always  playing  the  mother.  Is 
there  any  one  of  us,  even  your  husband,  to  whom  you 
are  not  most  unwearyingly,  most  divinely  maternal !  " 
Then  abruptly  turning  away :  "  But  for  all  that,"  he 
said  drily,  "  your  plan  is  the  most  insane  that  even 
you  ever  plotted  and  even  Cluny  gaily  abetted !  " 


CHAPTER   V 

"TTULLO!"     cried    a    high-pitched,     slightly 

J[_  J_  nasal  voice  from  the  topmost  of  the  house- 
steps. 

The  Duchess  glanced  round,  and  her  face  lit  up 
with  merriment. 

"It  is  Nessie,"  said  she. 

Favereau  bowed  profoundly  in  the  direction  of 
the  new-comer,  and  waved  a  courteous  hand. 

"I  am  indeed  fortunate,"  said  he,  in  easy  English, 

"Hullo,  I  declare  if  there  is  not  the  Minister," 
cried  the  unmodulated  tones.     "  How  do  you  do  ?  " 

The  little  figure  at  the  top  of  the  steps  waved  in 
return  a  minute  hand,  fluttered  a  vaporous  assort- 
ment of  flounces,  opened  a  large  pink  parasol  and 
came  forward  towards  them,  tripping  now  and  again 
in  over-long  skirts  which  were  ruthlessly  permitted 
to  trail. 

From  the  crown  of  her  little  dark  head,  elabor- 
ately tired,  to  the  tip  of  her  high-heeled,  pointed 
shoe,  miraculously  small ;  in  every  line  of  the  dusky 
face,  wittily  irregular,  delicately  pretty;  in  every 
line  of  the  slim  lithe  figure,  Nessie  Rodriguez  pro- 
claimed herself  American  —  American  of  the  class 
of  bewitching  New-World  women  who,  looking  upon 
Paris  as  their  paradise,  are  determined  to  take  their 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD        ^^ 

share  of  bliss  here  below  and  make  sure  that  their 
garb  shall  never  be  unworthy  of  the  beatific  state. 

With  a  final  trip  that  threatened  to  destroy  whole 
yards  of  wonderful  fal-lals  the  little  lady  halted,  ex- 
tended the  minute  hand  blazing  with  rings  to 
Favereau's  mock,  rapturous  salutation,  while  she 
herself  bestowed  a  bird-like  dart  and  chirrup  in  the 
direction  of  the  Duchess's  left  temple. 

"Now,    Helen,    what   do   you   think   of   my  new 


gown 


As  she  spoke  Madame  Rodriguez  shook  out  her 
skirts;  and  there  seemed  to  be  a  ruffling  and  flutter- 
ing of  feathers,  followed  by  shapely  subsidence. 

"  Paquin  says,"  she  twittered,  "they  must  be  an 
inch  on  the  ground  all  round.  How  is  one  to  walk, 
I  should  like  to  know.-*  You  are  a  man  of  taste, 
Mister  Minister.  (It 's  really  delightful  to  see 
you!)  What's  your  candid  opinion  on  the  new 
fashion  .-^  It  is  kind  of  silly,  don't  you  think,  to 
make  people  forget  you  have  a  foot  ? " 

She  chose  her  chair,  taking  possession  with  an- 
other inimitable  whisk  of  draperies  and  an  arrange- 
ment of  limbs  which  brought  into  proper  notice  the 
swing  of  the  miraculous  shoe. 

Favereau,  his  humourous  face  wrinkled  with 
amusement,  bent  slightly  to  examine  through  his 
eyeglass  the  arch  of  embroidered  kid. 

"Could  any  man,"  he  sighed,  "forget  that  you 
had  a  foot,  Madame }  " 

Nessie  lifted  her  toes  within  the  range  of  her 
vision  with  a  slight  kick. 


S6        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"I  wonder,"  said  she,  "if  that  's  a  compliment?" 

Bubbling  with  amusement,  she  shot  a  confidential 
glance  at  Helen,  upon  which  her  countenance  sud- 
denly changed.  With  lowered  feet  and  raised  head 
she  turned  sharply  upon  her  friend. 

"What's  happened  to  you,  Helen?  You've  got 
another  face  since  this  morning." 

The  light  that  only  one  thought  had  the  power  to 
evoke  shone  in  the  Duchess's  eyes  and  smile.  Her 
hand  sought  with  unconscious  caress  the  hidden 
telegram. 

"I  have  had  news,"  she  said. 

Nessie  gave  a  little  snort.  "You  don't  mean  to 
say  the  Duke  has  sent  you  another  letter? " 

"No;  a  telegram.  He  is  coming  back  —  this 
afternoon." 

The  sunshine  of  her  joy  so  flooded  this  happy 
wife  that  even  her  familiar  companion's  ready 
tongue  had  to  wait  a  moment  on  staring  eyes. 

"Well,  I  do  declare!"  she  burst  forth  at  last  with 
the  shrillest  note  of  her  high  gamut.  "  Look  at  her, 
Monsieur  Favereau !  I  always  said  Helen  had  a 
lovely  character.  What  other  woman  now  would 
wear  a  face  like  that,  just  because  her  husband  's 
coming  home?  And  such  a  gown  !  My!  for  a  hus- 
band! Now  I  have  dressed  smartly  too;  but  that  's 
because  of  the  American  sailor  cousin  —  one  of  the 
heroes  of  Santiago,  you  know  —  the  new  beau." 

"An  encouraging  remark,"  said  Favereau,  in  his 
gentle  bass,  "to  make  before  —  " 

"  The  old  beau  ? "  interrupted  Nessie,  with  a  de- 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         37 

lighted  cackle.  She  tapped  his  shirt-cuff  with  her 
little  jewelled  finger,  took  a  necessary  breath,  and 
started  afresh.  "Well,  Helen 's  a  real  saint,  isn't 
she?     Now,  what  do  you  say?  " 

"I  say,"  answered  Favereau,  drily,  "that  if  Cluny 
is  not  a  real  saint,  he  ought  to  be." 

The  Duchess  looked  up  from  her  work,  and  shot 
an  amazed  look  at  the  man's  countenance,  — a  coun- 
tenance that  was  as  superficially  expressive  as  it 
was  fundamentally  secretive.  She  drew  her  brows 
together;  her  eager  lips  trembled  over  a  rush  of 
words,  but  the  arrival  in  procession  of  what  the 
majordomo  presently  announced  as  "le  five  o'clock" 
checked  further  intimate  speech. 

Nessie  fell  upon  the  cakes  with  an  appreciation 
which  for  the  moment  necessitated  her  undivided 
attention.  Favereau  remained  standing  in  the  atti- 
tude in  which  he  had  risen  to  receive  his  cup  from 
Helen's  hand.  Absently  stirring  the  three  lumps 
of  sugar  in  the  uncreamed  mixture  (his  hostess  knew 
to  a  nicety,  and  never  forgot,  the  individual  tastes 
of  her  friends),  he  watched  the  Duchess's  face  with 
an  ever-gathering  gravity. 

Round  and  round  went  the  little  Russian  enam- 
elled spoon  in  the  yellow  Russian  tea,  though  the 
sugar  was  long  since  dissolved ;  round  and  round 
went  his  anxious  thought,  and  to  as  useless  a 
purpose. 

"  So  serene,  so  tmtroitbled,  so  tmtouched,  so  steadfast 
in  all  else,  yet  here  so  vulnerable,  that  even  to  question 


38         THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

in  jest  the  perfection  of  her  idol  suffices  to  bring  this 
shade  tipon  her  face !  Ah  me!  Angel,  saint  to  all 
the  world — woman,  more  tenderly  woman  than  most 
to  the  man  her  husband  !  God  gnard  ns  I  —  and  I  wJio 
made  the  marriage  to  give  her  Jiappiitess,  out  of  my 
own  poor  heart  !'^ 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  resumed  Nessie,  brandishing  a 
slice  of  walnut  cake  in  the  direction  of  the  Duchess's 
bent  head  and  resuming  the  original  thread  of  her 
discourse,  "you  're  just  too  good  for  this  world,  that 's 
a  fact ! " 

Helen  looked  up.  "Do  you  want  to  make  out," 
said  she,  with  a  little  laugh,  "that  there  is  any 
merit  in  my  loving  Cluny?  Oh,  I  am  afraid  the 
path  of  sanctity  is  steeper ! " 

Madame  Rodriguez,  who  out  of  her  slice  had 
bitten  a  semicircle  that  bore  unimpeachable  witness 
to  the  perfection  of  her  small  teeth,  here  cried  indis- 
tinctly, but  with  the  greatest  earnestness  — 

"Don't  you  try  to  climb  any  higher,  my  dear. 
No,  don't  you  try!  Men  do  not  like  to  be  made  to 
live  always  on  the  heights,  do  they,  Monsieur 
Favereau  ? " 

Favereau  swallowed  his  tea-syrup,  and  deposited 
the  cup  before  answering.     Then,  drily  — 

"In  great  altitudes,"  he  answered,  "the  atmos- 
phere is  perhaps  rather  too  rarefied  for  ordinary 
lungs  to  breathe  with  comfort." 

"That's  so.  As  for  me,"  proceeded  Nessie,  "I 
always   feel   a   kind    of    mountain-sickness   coming 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD        39 

over  me  when  I  have  been  a  week  in  the  house  alone 
with  Helen." 

The  Duchess  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  her 
friends. 

"I  don't  think  I  quite  know  what  you  mean,"  she 
said,  flushing. 

"We  mean  well  to  you,  my  dear,"  cried  the  shrill 
mentor,  and  fell  to  emphatic  speech,  pointed  by  the 
most  warning  gesticulation  of  absurd  hands.  "We 
all  know  that  you  are  an  angel,  and  a  saint,  and  have 
a  halo  growing  somewhere  round  your  head,  and  we 
know  that  the  nearer  the  sky  you  are,  the  more  at 
home  you  feel.  But  husbands  —  husbands,  my  dear, 
are  mere  human  beings.  If  one  wants  to  live  with 
them  happily,  one  must  come  down  from  one's 
heights." 

"In  fact,"  interrupted  Helen,  with  a  still  deepen- 
ing colour,  "every  woman  must  bring  herself  down 
to  a  lower  level  if  she  would  please  her  husband. 
Is  that  your  advice,  Nessie,  and  is  it  —  based  on 
experience } " 

Hardly  had  the  words  escaped  her  lips  than  she 
repented  her,  and  stretched  out  a  tender  hand  of 
apology  to  Madame  Rodriguez.  But  that  lady  was 
of  no  such  susceptible  fibre. 

"Mercy!"  she  cried.  "Experience.''  No!  I'd 
have  been  mud  up  to  my  chin  by  this  time  if  I  'd 
tried  to  live  down  to  Rodriguez.  One  need  not  go 
after  them  into  the  swamps." 

"Madame  Rodriguez  is  a  philosopher,"  said 
Favereau,  beginning  to   choose  a  cigarette   after  a 


40         THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

dumb  show  of  demand  for  permission.  "  Yes,  there 
are  middle  distances.  Those  are  the  safest.  Com- 
promises for  us  all." 

The  Duchess  flamed  again  with  that  quick,  sweet 
passion  of  hers  that  was  kindled  only  by  a  too  sensi- 
tive generosity. 

"  Compromise  ! "  cried  she.  "  I  hate  the  word.  I 
hate  the  idea.  What  does  it  mean  ?  Being  false  to 
one's  best  possibility.  Slipping  in  between  the  wall 
and  one's  honour.  A  cloak  to  disguise  treason,  a 
kiss  to  cover  a  betrayal ! " 

Favereau  looked  at  her  kindling  face  with  his  sad, 
wise  eyes. 

"Compromise,"  he  said,  "my  dear  lady,  is  the 
cardinal  condition  of  life's  tenure.  It  is  the  safety- 
valve  of  social  existence;  the  first  lesson  to  be  taught 
the  child,  the  last  consolation  of  the  old  man." 

"I  will  have  none  of  it,"  said  the  Duchess.  "I 
would  never  be  content  with  half  an  honour,  half  a 
love,  half  a  happiness  —  I  think  I  would  as  soon  do 
nothing  as  only  half  my  best.  And  so  would  Cluny," 
she  added,  after  a  short  pause.  "  He  is  one  who 
would  as  soon  lose  honesty  itself  as  the  delicacy  of 
truth." 

M.  Favereau  brushed  an  imperceptible  ash  from 
his  immaculate  grey  knee. 

Madame  Rodriguez's  bright  eyes,  after  vainly 
endeavouring  to  catch  his  dreamy  glance,  became 
suddenly  suffused.  She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and, 
fluttering  to  the  back  of  her  friend's  chair,  caught 
her  impulsively  round  the  neck. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD        41 

"  She  's  too  good  for  this  world  ! "  she  repeated 
then,  shooting  the  words  at  Favereau  over  the  pretty 
bronze  hair  and  squeezing  the  white  throat  with  her 
hands.  "How  in  this  universe  you  ever  came  to 
take  up  with  an  earthy  little  worm  like  me,  well, 
it  just  beats  me!  But,  after  all,  it's  just  because 
you  are  ^foit !  Just  to  think,  Monsieur  Favereau : 
I  was  a  poor,  unhappy  little  girl  at  school,  — yes, 
I  was,  Helen,  you  know  I  was,  — always  in  disgrace, 
snubbed  by  the  grand  French  girls  (because  my 
pappa  had  made  his  own  pile  instead  of  finding  it 
ready  made),  sent  to  Coventry  by  my  own  compa- 
triots because  of  the  crimp  in  my  hair!  Why,  the 
poor  dears,  pappa  and  mamma,  would  insist  on 
sending  me  to  that  convent,  the  Lord  only  knows ! 
They  'd  set  their  hearts  on  seeing  me  in  the  beau 
monde,  you  see.  And  then  Helen  here,  Helen,  this 
blessed  duck  —  yes,  you  are,  Helen,  and  you  always 
were"  —  with  fresh  pressure  from  the  girdle  of 
vehement  hands,  "Helen,  the  pride  of  the  place, 
brought  up  by  the  greatest  lady  of  the  whole  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain  —  my !  how  that  terrible  old  aunt 
of  yours,  my  dear,  used  to  wither  me  through  her 
eye-glass!  (she  was  just  American  enough,  you  see, 
to  scorn  me  twice  over)  Helen,  the  biggest  heiress 
in  Paris,  sprig  of  the  real  old  Virginia  stock,  she 
just  took  me  up  and  floated  me  right  off.  That 's 
Helen's  way!" 

"Dear  Nessie,"  said  the  Duchess,  pulling  down 
the  embracing  hands  and  tilting  her  head  back  in 
the  endeavour  to  stop  the  chattering  mouth  with  a 


42         THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

kiss,  "don't  forget  that,  when  our  good  Favereau 
brought  us  boxes  of  chocolate  in  those  dear  old  days, 
if  he  had  one  for  me,  he  always  had  one  for  you ;  and 
that  you  were  as  fond  of  holding  forth  to  him  upon 
my  virtues  then  as  you  are  now." 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  it  does  not  bore  him  now  any 
more  than  it  did  then.  They  were  dear  old  days, 
Helen.  I  can  smell  the  convent  smell  this  minute: 
incense  and  beeswax  and  whitewash,  and  the  smoke 
of  the  little  lamps.  Oh  dear!"  She  sniffed  the 
flower-laden  atmosphere  and  closed  her  eyes  upon 
blue  sky  and  sunshine. 

**  Oh  dear ! "  echoed  the  Duchess,  laughing  with 
the  tender  regret  which  the  most  prosperous  must 
fain  bestow  upon  the  pathetically  innocent  memories 
of  youth.  And,  in  company  with  her  friend,  she 
flew  back  in  spirit  to  the  past.  "  I  can  see  the  long 
convent  room  still  —  can't  you .-'  And  the  great  long 
windows,  and  the  one  green  tree." 

"Oh,  and  do  you  remem.ber,"  cried  Nessie,  with 
her  delighted  cackle,  opening  her  eyes  once  more, 
"do  you  remember  the  day  Sister  Angelique  caught 
you  giving  Favereau  a  kiss  for  his  chocolates .-'  Oh 
my !  how  shocked  she  was.  And  you  said,  in  excuse, 
you  had  always  done  it.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  You  never 
knew,  did  you,  Monsieur  Favereau  .-^  You  never 
thought  of  noticing  whether  a  little  girl  kissed  you 
or  not.?  But  she  cried  three  whole  nights  after  your 
next  visit  because  she  was  afraid  you  would  think  she 
had  ceased  to  love  you. " 

"I  remember,  I  remember,"  said  Helen,  smiling, 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD        43 

as  with  half-closed  eyes  she  dreamily  swung  in  the 
rocking-chair. 

"Lord,  it's  not  likely  you 'd  remember,"  said 
Nessie  to  Favereau. 

Favereau  glanced  at  her,  and  she  stopped  short. 
For  in  those  sad  eyes  the  whole  tragic  secret  of  the 
man's  life  lay  suddenly  revealed  to  her  woman's  wit. 
Her  brain  seized  upon  fact,  and  eliminated  precon- 
ceived ideas  with  the  rapidity  of  which  only  a  woman 
is  capable. 

"What!"  went  her  whirling  thought,  "he  had 
loved  Helen.?  Always,  even  as  a  child.?  This  old 
Favereau!  Pshaw!  he  was  not  old  —  but  a  little 
over  fifty  now.  And  he  had  not  forgotten  the  last 
time  that  Helen  kissed  him.  No,  he  had  not  for- 
gotten it.     Ah,  my  God,  what  a  look ! " 

The  tears  again  rapidly  rushed  to  Nessie's  eye- 
lashes. To  cover  her  emotion,  her  embarrassment, 
to  keep  Helen  from  a  hint  of  her  kind  friend's  pain 
—  with  the  same  feminine  instinct  that  would  have 
led  her  to  bind  up  a  wound  —  she  plunged  wildly  into 
discourse  again,  vainly  endeavouring  the  while  to 
find  her  pocket-handkerchief  among  the  folds  of  her 
ingenious  robes. 

"Well,  that's  Helen's  way,  anyhow,  as  I  said. 
And  she's  stuck  to  me  ever  since,  you  bet.  And 
when  I  go  and  make  a  fool  of  myself  and  marry  that 
Rodriguez,  and  he  treats  me  like  a  brute,  and  deserts 
me,  and  keeps  popping  up,  pestering  me  for  my 
money,  I  declare,  if  it  wasn't  for  Helen,  I'd  go 
crazy. " 


44        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

She  sniffed,  wheeled  violently  round  upon  her- 
self, and  stamped  her  foot. 

"Oh!  where  do  they  put  one's  pockets  in  these 
new  skirts? " 

Having,  after  diverse  contortions,  extracted  a 
square  of  cambric,  the  minute  proportions  of  which 
were  chiefly  occupied  by  a  monogram,  a  coronet  and 
an  arabesque  of  embroidery,  the  ill-used  wife  rubbed 
her  eyes  perfunctorily,  shook  out  her  skirts,  returned 
to  her  seat,  requested  another  cup  of  tea,  and  dis- 
posed of  it  reflectively.  Then,  interrupting  the  con- 
versation which  had  begun  between  Helen  and 
Favereau  —  pleasant,  desultory  talk  of  two  old 
friends,  interesting  only  to  those  engaged,  where  a 
word  conveys  a  whole  train  of  meaning,  and  a  look 
can  finish  a  phrase  —  Madame  Rodriguez  delivered 
herself  of  the  following  important  pronouncement. 

"It  is  quite  a  pretty  gown,  Helen;  the  stuff  is 
lovely,  and  the  lace  is  lovely,  and  you  look  lovely  in 
it.     But,  my  dear,  where  did  you  get  it?  " 

Helen  looked  down  complacently  at  her  creamy 
draperies. 

"There's  a  young  widow  in  St.  Michel,"  she 
began,  when,  with  a  shriek,  the  little  lady  broke  in: 

"I  knew  it,  I  knew  it!  Now,  look  here,  isn't  it 
too  bad  ?  My !  what 's  the  good  of  being  a  Duchess? 
Now,  Helen,  I  am  not  joking.  Listen,  Monsieur 
Favereau,  it 's  very  serious.  This  sort  of  thing  can- 
not go  on.  This  shutting  herself  up;  this  turning 
her  house  into  a  convent,  all  prayers  and  good 
works;  this  constant  talking  of  horrid  poor  people, 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD        45 

this  adopting  of  mysterious  orphans  —  you  've  heard 
of  the  orphan,  I  suppose?  —  and,  and"  —  her  little 
pipe  nearly  breaking  in  its  shrill  rise  of  pitch  —  "  and 
this  getting  of  her  clothes  in  the  village !  " 

There  was  a  dramatic  pause.  Helen  laughed,  and 
lay  back  in  her  rocking-chair,  reaching  for  her  work. 
Favereau,  the  picture  of  judicial  gravity,  blew  en- 
trancing smoke-rings. 

"Now,  Helen,"  proceeded  her  friend,  with  ever- 
increasing  earnestness,  "that  Duke  of  yours  is  always 
going  off  by  himself."  She  paused  again,  impres- 
sively. 

"My  dear,"  said  the  Duchess,  with  her  smile  of 
absolute  content,  "  if  he  leaves  home  it  is  because 
his  duties  require  him  elsewhere." 

Favereau  carefully  knocked  the  ash  of  his  cigar- 
ette with  his  little  finger,  and  indifferently  surveyed, 
one  after  the  other,  his  long  thin  feet  in  their  per- 
fect tan  clothing.  Thus  he  naturally  failed  to  answer 
the  comfortable  look  of  amusement  Helen  darted  at 
him;  her  mute,  good-natured:  "  Is  n't  she  absurd .'' " 

"Well,"  cried  Nessie,  waxing  ever  more  earnest 
under  the  stress  of  excitement,  "  I  guess  if  that 
man  were  mine,  I  'd  never  let  him  out  of  my 
sight." 

She  rapped  the  tea-table  as  she  spoke  and  started 
a  hundred  clinks  and  jingles.  But  the  Lady  of 
Luciennes,  unmoved,  planted  a  stitch,  and  the  Min- 
ister of  Public  Worship  and  Education  apparently 
became  absorbed  in  mentally  debating  the  propriety 
of  another  cigarette.     It  is  always  trying  to  feel  how 


46        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

good  proffered  advice  is,  and  how  utterly  it  is 
wasted;  quavers  of  irritability  betrayed  themselves 
in  Madame  Nessie's  next  chirp. 

"  You  would  buy  all  Doucet,  my  dear  (Doucet  's 
your  style,  Paquin  's  mine),  if  you  had  two  sous' 
worth  of  sense.  And  you  would  go  with  your  hus- 
band to  all  the  shooting-parties  and  all  the  races,  the 
yachting  and " 

"But,  you  see,"  interrupted  Helen,  "  Cluny  does 
not  happen  to  care  for  races,  you  ridiculous  child." 

Nessie  clapped  her  hands.  "  Oh,  my ! "  she  cried, 
with  an  indescribable  blend  of  pity,  experience,  su- 
periority, and  exasperation. 

Favereau  closed  his  cigarette-case  with  a  click, 
and  leaning  forward  and  looking  intently  at  the  last 
speaker  with  his  contracted,  short-sighted  eyes,  cried 
warningly  — 

"  Madame  Rodriguez,  I  would  not  frighten  you 
for  the  world,  but  there  is  a  wasp  just  behind  your 
left  ear." 

Nessie  sprang  to  her  feet.  Forgotten  was  every- 
thing but  the  hideous  immediate  danger.  She  beat 
the  air  with  her  useless  scraps  of  hands,  rent  it  with 
her  very  effective  voice.  The  Duchess  had  to  rise 
and  help  and  soothe.  Favereau  was  fain  to  seek  for 
the  invisible  insect  with  the  help  of  his  eyeglass. 

"It  is  gone,  Nessie,"  said  the  Duchess.  "You 
forgot,"  said  she,  rebukingly,  to  Favereau,  "how 
terrified  she  has  always  been  of  wasps." 

"I  did  not  forget,"  he  answered  quietly.  "For- 
give me,  Madame  Rodriguez,  it  was  the  only  thing 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD        47 

to  do :  the  sting  once  given  —  "  He  paused  signifi- 
cantly. 

Fluttering  Nessie  became  still  all  of  a  sudden. 
Her  small  face  grew  solemn.  She  shot  a  glance  at 
Favereau,  flushed,  then  saying,  "Thank  you,"  in  a 
subdued  voice,  sat  down  with  quite  unwonted 
meekness. 

During  the  short  pause  which  naturally  succeeded 
the  agitation,  there  rose  in  the  distance  a  whirring 
sound  of  wheels. 

"  Hark ! "  cried  Helen.  The  pleasant  murmur 
grew  louder,  with  the  unmistakable  accent  of 
approach.     "Cluny!  itisCluny!" 

She  turned  from  them  with  the  lightness  of  a 
girl,  ran  the  length  of  the  terrace,  and  was  up  the 
steps  before  even  her  volatile  friend  had  time  to 
exclaim. 


"My!"  said  that  lady,  after  a  while.  "Now, 
Monsieur  Favereau  ?  " 

Thus  challenged,  he  met  her  questioning  eyes. 

"  Well.^  "  said  she  again,  and  tapped  her  foot. 

"Well,  Madame.?" 

"  What 's  your  opinion  —  your  real  opinion  ?  " 

Favereau  clasped  his  long  fingers  behind  his  back, 
and  took  a  musing  pace  or  two. 

"You  cannot,"  said  he,  smiling  then  upon  her  in 
his  charming  way,  "get  the  Ethiopian  to  change 
his  swarthy  skin,  nor  a  woman  like  Helen  to  change 
her  white   singleness  of  soul.     Moreover,   Madame 


48         THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Rodriguez,  I  am  not  sure  that  any  change  would  be 
for  the  better." 

"Oh, come!"  cried  she,  indignantly.  "Sir,  I 
know,  you  know. " 

"Madame,"  he  said,  halting  before  her,  and 
raised  one  hand  with  a  certain  rare  gesture  of  com- 
mand that  was  distinctly  impressive,  "pray  under- 
stand I  know  nothing." 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE  worthlessness  of  the  Stuart  has  been  dem- 
onstrated to  us  by  every  impartial  historian. 
Recent  discoveries,  we  are  told,  will  shortly 
place  before  the  world  the  true  Mary  Stuart  in  all 
her  falseness  and  depravity,  while  ruthless  pens 
have  long  ago  scratched  away  the  last  shred  of  per- 
sonal worth,  consistency  and  manly  honour  from  the 
pathetic  figure  of  the  Martyr-King;  the  best  that 
honest  English  Thackeray  can  say  for  the  second 
Charles  is  that  he  was  not  a  royal  "snob"  like  his 
grandfather;  the  very  name  of  the  second  James  is 
still  tantamount  to  execration. 

But  fact  and  judgment  work  in  vain.  There  will 
ever  hang  about  the  dethroned  race  a  scent  of 
romance  more  exquisite,  memories  of  devotion  more 
delicate,  than  any  other  house  has  yet  called  forth. 

It  is  not  that  the  breed  was  worthier;  this  has 
been  but  too  amply  proved.  It  is  not,  either,  that 
it  has  been  more  unfortunate :  we  have  invested  the 
story  of  that  Bourbon  who  laid  a  more  deserving,  a 
more  innocent  head  upon  the  block  than  did  our  con- 
stitutionally decapitated  king,  with  no  such  glamour. 
Other  royal  rulers  have  been  deposed,  disinherited, 

4 


50        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

exiled;  but  yet  their  name  is  connected  with  no 
poetic  love  such  as  that  which  the  single  word, 
Stuart,  has  still  the  power  to  evoke.  Their  per- 
sonal charm  must  have  been  something  irresistible. 

Perhaps  it  was  from  his  direct  ancestor,  James 
Stuart,  that  Charles-Edward  Fitz-Roy,  Duke  of 
Cluny,  inherited  the  peculiar  fascination  that  made 
him  an  object  of  universal  popularity,  amounting  in 
his  own  immediate  circle  to  a  kind  of  adoration. 

"The  king  can  do  no  wrong."  Was  it  for  a 
Stuart  that  this  convenient  aphorism  was  first  coined.? 
The  Duke  of  Cluny  was  once  described  as  one  to 
whom  it  was  possible  to  forgive  everything.  Per- 
haps if  an  attempt  might  be  made  to  analyse  any- 
thing so  essentially  elusive  as  "charm,"  a  clearer 
idea  of  his  personality  might  be  given  by  the  state- 
ment that,  in  connection  with  him,  right  and  wrong 
seemed  to  lose  their  everyday  meaning:  whatever  he 
did  became  him.  I  doubt  whether,  as  a  saint,  he 
would  have  proved  half  as  lovable  as  a  sinner. 
Withal,  his  sins  were  those  the  world  most  readily 
condones  —  those  which  seem  to  spring  from  an 
excess  of  generous  natural  qualities:  open-handed- 
ness,  good  fellowship,  reckless  high  spirits,  delight- 
ful contempt  of  consequences,  thorough  appreciation 
of  women,  wit,  and  wine. 

Something  there  was  of  the  melancholy  of  the 
doomed  Stuart  about  this  last  of  their  sons  (but 
nothing,  his  friends  averred,  of  Stuart  meanness 
and  falseness) ;  much,  too,  was  there  of  their  integral 
dignity.     No  one  would  have  ever  taken  a  liberty 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         51 

with  the  Duke  of  Cluny,  good  companion  as  he  was. 
At  very  first  sight  of  him,  it  was  impossible  to  mis- 
take the  distinctive  type  of  beauty  belonging  to  his 
lineage.  The  fine  line  of  eyebrow  curiously  raised 
over  the  long  lid,  and  its  pathetic  droop  at  each 
temple;  the  long  full  eye;  the  high  delicate  nose 
with  its  indefinable  suggestion  of  scorn  and  the 
extraordinary  sensitiveness  of  its  thin  nostrils;  the 
grave  mouth,  with  the  delusive  smile  given  by  the 
light  upturned  moustache;  the  slender,  beautiful 
hands  —  all  this  is  familiar  to  our  admiration  from 
Vandyck's  magic  portraits  and  helps  us  to  under- 
stand something  of  the  personal  power  of  the  race. 
But  what  no  brush  could  convey,  what  no  pen  at- 
tempt to  describe,  was  the  exquisite  lighting  up  of 
the  living  face;  above  all,  the  extraordinary  sweet- 
ness of  the  smile. 


Jaques  Favereau,  nursing  a  dull  fire  of  wrath  in 
his  heart  against  this  profligate  child  of  fortune,  and 
Nessie  Rodriguez,  full  of  that  wholesale  condemna- 
tion (which,  in  a  small  and  inconsequent  mind,  is  so 
often  the  only  alternative  to  correspondingly  whole- 
sale admiration),  felt,  each  in  their  different  man- 
ner, all  adverse  feelings  dispelled  by  the  first  sound 
of  the  Duke  of  Cluny's  voice. 

Perhaps  not  the  least  of  this  Cluny's  attraction 
dwelt  in  his  voice:  the  most  persuasive,  the  most 
sweet-sounding  organ  that  ever  man  was  gifted  with ; 
never    raised    inharmoniously   above    its    pitch,    it 


52        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

seemed  impossible  to  comiect  its  accents  with  a 
vulgar  or  sordid  emotion. 

The  master  of  the  house  smilingly  advanced  to 
meet  his  guests.  To  his  arm  clung  Helen.  It  was 
characteristic  of  her  that  she  made  no  attempt  to 
disguise  the  absorbing  joy  that  the  mere  presence 
of  her  husband  brought  to  her. 

"Madame,"  said  Cluny,  bowing  over  Nessie's 
eagerly  extended  fingers,  "  it  is  always  a  fresh  pleas- 
ure to  see  you."  He  stepped  back  and  cast  a  single 
comprehensive  glance  over  the  little  figure. 

"Never  the  same,"  added  he,  "and  ever  more 
charming ! " 

Delighted,  she  knew  that  Paquin's  ''dernier  cri" 
had  not  been  wasted  here. 

Then  the  Duke  turned  to  shake  Favereau's  hand. 
"I  am  glad,"  he  said.  And  he  was  glad.  There 
could  be  no  mistaking  the  warmth  in  voice  and  eye 
and  grasp.  And  Favereau  felt  the  last  of  his  resent- 
ment die  away. 

"To  the  devil  with  this  scamp  that  will  not  even 
let  one  be  angry  with  him  ! "  he  cried  impatiently  in 
his  heart. 

"We  never  expected  you,"  Nessie  was  piping. 
"A  delightful  surprise  — oh,  King  of  Jack-in-the- 
boxes!" 

All  the  while  she  was  settling  a  frill  here  and  a 
bow  there  with  entire"  self-satisfaction. 

The  Duke  of  Cluny  turned  his  eyes,  brightly 
happy  under  their  melancholy  lids,  upon  his  wife. 

"Ah!  you  see  how  it  is,  I  could  not  keep  away 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         S3 

any  longer.  The  further  we  are  separated,  the 
longer  we  are  apart,"  said  he,  laying  his  hand  for 
a  second  upon  the  gentle  one  that  clasped  his  sleeve, 
"the  tighter  grow  the  cords  that  bind  me;  till  there 
comes  the  time  when,  faith !  the  tension  grows  so 
painful  that  I  must  fain  come  home." 

Nessie  stared  at  the  speaker,  enthralled  by  the 
magic  of  his  voice  and  manner.  A  little  dry  cough 
from  Favereau  made  her  start  perceptibly.  She 
seemed  to  give  herself  a  sort  of  mental  shake,  ruffling 
at  the  same  time  her  fine  feathers  after  her  peculiar 
fashion. 

"Well,  yes,"  she  responded,  with  a  sudden  acces- 
sion of  tartness,  "  when  a  man  has  got  a  wife  like 
that  at  home,  home  is  about  the  best  place  for 
him." 

She  flounced  back  into  her  chair  as  she  spoke,  an 
action  which  became  a  signal  for  the  others  to  take 
seats  likewise. 

"How  right  you  are,"  answered  Cluny.  So  say- 
ing, he  turned  his  wife's  rocking-chair  to  the  proper 
angle,  and,  in  answer  to  the  unconscious  appeal  of 
her  eyes,  installed  himself  upon  the  balustrade  by 
her  side.  "  Yet  she  has  a  fault,  perfect  as  she  is  — 
a  great  fault  in  a  wife :  she  makes  absence  so  hard  to 
bear." 

Helen  blushed  rosily,  like  a  girl. 

The  Duke  tilted  his  straw  hat  to  the  back  of  his 
head  and  gazed  across  the  garden  slopes  towards  the 
ever-deepening  west.  Between  him  and  the  sky,  in 
the  absolute  stillness,  the  opal  smoke  of  the  hamlets 


54        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

below  rose  straight  and  slow ;  about  the  garden 
swards  the  swallows  flew  with  mad  darts  and  inter- 
secting swoops.  A  bell,  sweetened  by  cool  distance, 
rang  the  Angelus  with  innocent  village  note.  Some 
nearer  sentinel  took  up  the  call,  and  the  next  moment 
the  old  deep  tone  of  the  chapel  bell  rang  out  the 
hour  and  warning  within  Luciennes  itself.  In  the 
hush  Cluny  heaved  a  long,  sighing  breath,  — the  sigh 
of  a  man  who  gratefully  draws  into  himself  freshness 
and  wholesomeness  and  peace. 

He  glanced  down  at  his  wife's  bent  head:  as 
simply  as  the  simplest  child  in  the  village  below, 
Helen,  at  the  call  of  the  bell,  was  praying  to  herself. 
And  as  he  looked  at  her  he  bared  his  head.  Then 
he  went  on  with  his  train  of  thought,  speaking 
softly  to  the  last  echo  of  the  dying  chimes  — 

"  When  a  man  leaves  a  wife  like  Helen,  he  carries 
off  with  him  a  holy  image,  before  which  his  little 
light  is  always  burning,  after  the  fashion  of  those 
good  friends  of  ours,  the  pious  Russians,  you  know. 
And  it  seems  to  him,  as  each  hour  passes  away,  that 
the  colours  of  his  Sainte  Image  grow  more  glowing, 
more  beautiful,  more  adorable.  Yet  when  he  returns 
home  the  image  is  nothing  —  nothing  to  the  reality ! " 
He  paused,  took  his  wife's  hand,  impulsively  ex- 
tended towards  him,  and  kissed  it,  adding  dreamily, 
as  if  into  space,  "That  is  how  it  will  be,  I  suppose, 
when  the  believer  gains  his  heaven." 

The  Duke's  poetic  sentiments,  as  well  as  the 
accents  in  which  they  were  delivered,  were  in  as 
perfect  harmony  with  the  hour  and  the  scene  as  the 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 


55 


tender  serenade  of  the  blackbird  to  the  receding  sun 
from  the  orchard  below.  But  it  must  be  confessed 
that  Nessie's  sudden  explosion  of  admiration  was 
notably  the  reverse. 

"  There ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  call  that  just  lovely ! 
I  do  believe  if  Rodriguez  had  ever  made  me  one  sin- 
gle speech  like  that,  I  should  have  forgiven  him 
everything  —  everything !  " 

Favereau  looked  at  the  absurdly  piquante  face, 
the  absurdly  fashionable  figure  of  the  diminutive 
lady  who  yearned  to  pose  as  a  Sainte  Image,  and 
broke  into  the  first  hearty  laugh  he  had  given  that 
day.  She,  always  charmed  to  promote  mirth,  joined 
in  with  her  cackle,  and  the  sunset  spell  was  irre- 
trievably broken. 

Here  a  new  sound  of  wheels  without,  accompanied 
by  the  comfortable  solid  trot  of  a  pair  of  well-trained 
"family-carriage"  horses,  brought  both  hostess  and 
guests  to  their  feet. 

Tripping  as  usual  over  her  gown,  Madame  Rodri- 
guez was  the  first  to  reach  the  angle  of  the  terrace 
from  whence  the  sweep  of  the  entrance  avenue  could 
be  overlooked. 

"It's  the  hero,"  she  cried,  all  eagerness,  after 
vainly  peering  into  the  green  below.  "  You  know 
all  about  him,  I  dare  say,"  she  called  over  her  shoul- 
der to  Favereau.  "  We  are  just  bursting  with  pride 
over  his  exploits,  we  Americans.  (I  suppose  he  's 
heard  of  Santiago,  Helen.''  One  never  knows  with 
French  people  —  they  don't  seem  to  kind  of  realise 
there 's    much  of   a   world    outside   France).      Oh, 


S6        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

here  they  are !  There  's  a  puce  parasol :  that 's  your 
cat-of-an-aunt  —  I  beg  pardon,  Helen,  Madame  la 
Marquise  de  Lormes.  And  there's  another  hat  — 
a  white  straw  mushroom.  Oh,  of  course,  that 's 
the  little  innocent,  the  mysterious  orphan.  But 
where  's  my  hero?  " 

"That 's  my  child,"  said  Helen,  and  shot  a  glance 
of  gay  defiance  at  Favereau. 

The  Duke  straightened  himself  from  bending  over 
the  balustrade,  ran  his  fingers  through  his  crisp  hair, 
and  whistled  softly  to  himself  with  a  look  of  comical, 
good-humoured  consternation. 

"Faith,"  he  said  in  an  undertone  to  Favereau,  "I 
had  forgotten  all  about  the  orphan  —  what  's  her 
name?  Faith,  I  doubt  if  I  ever  knew  the  name! 
Well,  it  amuses  Helen.  Wiiat  is  it,  my  dear?"  for 
his  wife  stood  beside  him,  her  hand  on  his  coat- 
sleeve. 

"  Are  you  not  coming  to  welcome  our  guests, 
Cluny?" 

He  glanced  over  the  parapet.  "  Ces  vtessieurs  are 
evidently  walking,"  he  observed,  "and,  that  being 
the  case,  Favereau  and  I  will  leave  you  to  your  first 
feminine  expansion,  —  those  embraces  which  our 
masculine  awkwardness  would  inevitably  hamper! 
A  tajitot." 

She  moved  from  him  regretfully. 

"I  'm  coming,  Helen,"  cried  Madame  Rodriguez, 
frankly  bunching  her  inconvenient  skirts  and  running 
after  her  tall  friend  as  fast  as  her  high  heels  would 
let  her. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         57 

When  he  had  watched  her  out  of  sight,  Cluny  fell 
into  his  wife's  rocking-chair  and  lit  a  cigarette. 

"Let  us  enjoy  things  for  a  few  minutes  more," 
said  he.  "  How  perfect  it  would  have  been  if  it 
were  not  for  what  Madame  Nessie  calls  '  that  old 
cat-of-an-aunt '  and  the  rest  of  them  ! "  He  gave  a 
little  sigh.  "  What  a  pity  that  this  carriage-load 
should  break  in  upon  us !  I  must  be  growing  old, 
I  think,  for  I  don't  feel  any  enthusiasm  even  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  the  American.  It  seems 
he  's  a  fine  fellow  though,  and  has  been  entrusted  by 
his  Government  with  weighty  business  in  this  Exhi- 
bition. As  for  Cousin  Totol,  I  confess  the  youth's 
hoary  wickedness  has  ceased  to  make  me  smile. 
And  the  orphan.  Oh,  one  knows  the  orphan  by 
heart  already !  '  Oui,  Monsieur.  .  .  .  Non,  Mon- 
sieur.' Well,  poor  little  soul,  she  can't  be  much  in 
the  way,  and,  as  I  say,  it  amuses  Helen." 


CHAPTER   VII 

FAVEREAU,    absorbed    in   thought,  his   hands 
loosely  clasped  behind  his  back,  his  head  bent 
forward  on  his  breast,  was  pacing  slowly  up  and 
down  in  the  red  sunset  glow,     A  look  of  fatigue  had 
fallen  upon  his  face.     It  was  as  if  some  inner  light 
had  become  quenched  upon  Helen's  withdrawal. 

He  seemed  to  pay  no  heed  to  Cluny's  discourse. 
But,  with  the  placid  egoism  of  easy  friendship,  the 
latter  proceeded,  raising  his  voice  and  speaking  a 
little  more  emphatically,  the  while  he  luxuriously 
rocked  himself  and  stretched  long  legs  before  him 
and  long  arms  above  his  head : 

"  There  's  not  another  woman  like  her  on  the  face 
of  this  earth!  Oh,  this  coming  home  to  her,  the 
restfulness  of  it,  the  sweetness !  And  never  banale, 
mon  cJier,  no  more  than  good  white  bread,  or  a  clear 
water  spring,  or  the  large  blue  sky  itself  can  become 
banal!" 

M.  Favereau  halted  in  front  of  the  swinging-chair, 
and  turned  for  a  moment  his  abstracted  gaze  upon 
its  self-complacent  occupant,  then  he  resumed  his 
slow,  reflective  tramp. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         59 

"You  made  our  marriage,  dear  old  friend,"  con- 
tinued the  Duke,  tenderly,  "  but  it  is  no  use  trying 
to  thank  you." 

The  other  walked  to  the  end  of  the  terrace,  re- 
turned, drew  a  chair  close,  and  sat  down. 

"Yes,"  he  said;  "I  made  this  marriage,  and  I 
don't  want  you  to  thank  me." 

Both  his  tone  and  movements  were  so  heavy,  so 
unlike  the  man,  that,  with  a  shade  of  surprise, 
Cluny  stopped  his  rocking,  threw  away  his  cigarette 
and  half  sat  up  to  examine  his  friend's  countenance. 
Favereau  returned  the  look  with  a  long,  searching 
gaze. 

"Edward,"  said  he,  then,  "those  were  very  pretty 
phrases  you  made  to,  and  about,  your  wife  just 
now." 

"  Phrases }  I  made  no  phrases.  I  spoke  from  my 
heart,"  answered  Cluny,  after  a  slight  pause. 

Again  Favereau 's  eyes  scanned  the  face  before 
him  with  a  long  look.     Then  he  gave  a  deep  sigh. 

"I  believe  you  are  speaking  the  truth.  I  have  no 
doubt,"  he  said,  "that  you  are  very  glad  to  come 
back  to  Helen.  But,  does  it  not  strike  you  that,  for 
a  man  so  conscious  of  his  wedded  felicity,  your 
absences  are  strangely  frequent  and  prolonged }  Are 
you  not  afraid  that  it  may  one  day  dawn  upon  Helen 
that  these  are  not  always  occasioned  by  your  high 
sense  of  territorial  responsibility  and  social  duties.-* 
For  that  is,  I  understand,  the  official  explanation." 

There  was  a  complete  cessation  of  all  movement 
from  the  rocking-chair.     The  Duke  seemed  struck 


6o        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

into  as  profound  a  meditation  as  the  speaker  had 
been  a  little  while  before.  Even  in  the  rosy  light 
his  countenance  seemed  to  grow  pale  under  its  tan. 
But  there  was  not  a  shade  of  hesitation  in  the  frank- 
ness of  his  glance;  not  a  shade  of  embarrassment  in 
his  manner  when,  at  length,  looking  fully  at  Favereau, 
he  answered  him.  The  words,  however,  came  slowly, 
with  deep  earnestness  and  emphasis. 

"I  can  conceive,"  he  said,  "no  greater  misfortune 
than  that  Helen's  peace  of  mind  should  ever  be  dis- 
turbed through  me.  I  would  do  anything  in  the 
world  to  avert  that." 

Silence  fell  again.  With  an  abrupt  change  of 
manner,  the  Duke  lay  back  in  his  chair,  resumed 
his  oscillation  and  began  to  roll  another  cigarette. 

Having  thrown  away  his  match  and  blown  a  cloud 
of  delicate  smoke,  the  world  was  once  more  illu- 
mined by  his  charming  smile. 

"Bless  her,"  he  said,  "she  would  not  believe  an 
angel  from  heaven  were  he  to  try  to  shake  her  faith 
in  me!" 

Favereau  rose  stiffly  from  his  seat,  his  face  sud- 
denly drawn  with  anger.  The  sturdy  iron  chair 
trembled  under  the  weight  and  tension  of  his  hand. 

"And  this,"  he  said,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "this  is 
the  confidence  you  deliberately  abuse !  Edward,  you 
are  a  baser  man  even  than  I  thought  you." 

He  turned  away  as  he  spoke  and  walked  to  the  end 
of  the  terrace  with  a  dragging  step,  shrinking  into 
himself  as  he  went.  His  back  now  looked  like  that 
of  an  old  man. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         6i 

Cluny  sat,  staring  after  him  with  a  blank  look 
that  was  almost  comical;  then  he  sprang  up  and, 
hurriedly  overtaking  the  retreating  figure,  flung  both 
arms  boyishly  over  its  shoulders. 

"I  say,"  he  cried  caressingly,  "what  fly  has  bitten 
you  this  evening?  You  know  I  am  not  base.  I 
don't  say  I  am  worthy  of  Helen  —  that  would  be 
absurd !     I  have  my  faults,   of  course  —  " 

"  Faults ! "  echoed  the  other,  turning  round  upon 
him;  and  the  ring  of  his  voice,  the  look  in  his  eyes, 
was  so  full  of  sad  contempt  that  the  Duke  hung  his 
head  and  dropped  his  glance,  like  a  convicted  urchin. 

"Ah,"  said  he,  then,  in  a  low  voice,  still  looking 
to  the  ground,  "  Helen  knows  me  better  than  any  of 
you,  in  spite  of  everything.  She  alone  knows  the 
best  of  me.  You,  why,  I  think  you  know  the  worst. 
Now  I  stand  between:  a  man,  a  mere  man.  Yet," 
he  continued,  stretching  out  a  persuasive  hand,  "  is 
not  a  man's  best  self  the  true  one?  " 

"Edward,  Edward,  Edward,"  cried  the  elder,  with 
a  sort  of  groan,  "these  are  but  words.  And  that 
better  self  of  yours  —  which  God  forbid  I  should 
deny !  —  knows  they  are  but  words. " 

He  scanned  the  beautiful  face,  so  extraordinarily 
youthful  still,  in  spite  of  the.  silver  streaks  in  the 
thick  brown  hair. 

"  Alas ! "  he  went  on,  "  I  fear  that  the  naughty  boy 
whom  I  loved  so  much  more  than  I  could  have  loved 
a  better  one,  will  never  die  in  you.  I  have  been 
waiting,  Edward,  for  the  inait  —  I  have  waited  so 
long  that  I  have  lost  hope  at  last.     And  one  day  " 


62        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

—  Favereau's  lip  quivered  —  "  one  day  you  will  break 
her  heart ! " 

He  leant  his  elbow  on  the  rough  stonework  and 
gazed  across  shadowy  garden-spaces  towards  the 
misty  glory. 

Again  Cluny's  arm  crept  round  the  irresponsive 
shoulder,  and  Cluny's  voice  began  to  rise  and  fall  in 
the  obstinately  averted  ear  in  tones  of  pleading  that 
were  alternately  boyishly  sweet  and  passionately 
earnest. 

"Don't  say  that!  Look  here,  mon  vieux,  it's 
never  too  late  to  mend.  Favereau !  come,  are  you 
not  a  little  hard  on  me.^  God  knows  I  would  not 
change  my  noble  wife.  No,  not  by  a  shade  would 
I  have  her  less  exquisite.  I  will  say  this  for  myself, 
Favereau,  she  might  have  married  a  better  man, 
easily.  But  there  is  not  another  man  in  the  whole 
world  that  could  understand  her,  feel  with  her,  as  I 
do.  Come,  you  must  acknowledge  I  have  made  her 
happy." 

As  the  speaker  became  persuaded  of  the  soundness 
of  his  own  argument  his  voice  grew  gradually  more 
assured.  It  now  rang  out  almost  in  triumph,  and 
the  arm  was  withdrawn  from  its  embrace  to  assist 
with  fine  gesture  the  weight  of  words. 

"Come,"  he  repeated,  "you  must  acknowledge  I 
have  made  her  happy!  Do  you  think,  if  I  had  ever 
hurt  the  most  secret  of  her  thoughts,  the  least  fibre 
of  her  feelings,  either  as  wife  or  as  saint,  she  would 
wear  round  her  woman's  face  that  aureole  of  happi- 
ness } " 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD        6^ 

Favereau  turned  with  slow  unwilling  eye,  with 
stiff  resisting  figure,  to  meet  the  flushed  triumph  of 
his  friend. 

"  On  the  surface,  your  arguments  are  unanswer- 
able, my  prince  of  easy  sophists,"  said  he,  with  a 
curl  upon  his  lip,  which  was,  however,  not  all  un- 
kindly in  its  sarcasm.  "  But  let  us  just  probe  a 
very  little  below  this  fair  surface.  Have  you  ever 
asked  yourself  how  long  Helen's  happiness  would 
last  if  — " 

"Stay!"  interrupted  Cluny,  with  a  quick  gesture. 
Then,  staring  thoughtfully  at  Favereau,  "  Let  me 
finish,"  he  said.  "I  suppose  you  imagine  that  I 
have  been  what  is  called  unfaithful  to  my  wife.? " 

Favereau  clutched  the  young  man's  arm.  "Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me,"  he  cried,  "that  you  have 
not?" 

The  husband  hesitated  a  second,  then  he  answered 
firmly: 

"Never!  —  Never!"  he  went  on,  with  an  air  of 
entire  conviction,  "with  that  better  self  of  mine, 
that  better  self  which  is  consecrated  to  her." 

"  Faugh ! "  exclaimed  Favereau,  pushing  Cluny 
from  him  with  an  angry  movement.  Then  running 
his  eyes  over  his  friend's  figure  and  clasping  his  own 
hands  behind  his  head,  with  a  gesture  of  utter  dis- 
couragement.    "  Incorrigible !  "  cried  he. 

Cluny,  with  his  imperturbable  sweet  temper, 
betrayed  no  resentment. 

"My  dear  Favereau,"  he  said,  pleading  once 
again,  "be   reasonable.     Here,  let   us   sit  on   this 


64        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

bench.  The  smell  of  the  honeysuckle  is  entranc- 
ing —  and  look  at  that  sunset !  What  a  good  hour 
this  is  —  the  very  hour  for  friends.  Light  up  again 
and  don't  look  so  gloomy.  I  am  not  such  a  bad 
fellow,  after  all.  (Well,  if  you  will  not  smoke,  I 
will.)  ...  I  ask  you  again,  have  I  not  made  her 
happy.?  And  is  that  not  the  chief  thing  after  all.? 
You  must  admit  —  you  are  a  man  of  the  world  —  that 
there  is  not  a  man  existing  that  is,  through  and 
through,  worthy  of  her.  There  is  not  a  man,  as  man 
is  made,  man  with  human  weaknesses,  human  pas- 
sions, who  could  keep  himself,  year  in  year  out, 
upon  her  level,  without  once  betraying  the  clay, 
without  bringing  disillusion  upon  her.  You  know 
that.     I  could  not." 

Favereau  gave  his  dry  commenting  cough. 

"As  well,"  pursued  Cluny,  waving  his  unlit  cigar- 
ette (he  was  not  in  earnest  about  his  smoking,  after 
all),  "  as  well  expect  a  human  being,  however  wedded 
to  holiness,  to  spend  his  whole  existence  in  a  church  ! 
A  man  must  out  into  the  world,  even  if  it  be  a  dusty, 
sinful  world.  I  have  felt  that  I  must  out  into  the 
world,  devout  worshipper  as  I  am.  I  have  to  leave 
the  sanctuary  now  and  again  to  keep  the  shadow  of 
my  mere  humanity  from  falling  upon  our  perfect 
union  —  the  union  of  my  better  self  and  her." 

This  time  the  listener  gave  a  short  laugh,  flung 
himself  back  on  the  bench  and  crossed  his  legs. 
Leaning  his  head  against  the  back,  he  gazed  upwards 
into  the  deepening  blue  and  breathed,  sighing  — 

"Words,  words,  words!" 


THE    SECRET   ORCHARD         6$ 

"Well,  after  all,"  then  cried  the  other,  with  the 
first  heat  he  had  shown.  "  What  is  it  you  reproach 
me  with?  What  is  it?  Where  is  it  I  have  failed? 
What  crimes  do  you  think  I  commit  when  I  leave 
her?  Mon  Dieu!  of  what  importance  are  the  relax- 
ations of  the  man  of  the  world,  the  man  of  honour, 
be  it  understood,  that  you  should  think  them,  to- 
day, worth  all  this  frowning?  These  things  have  no 
existence,  my  friend.  Or  rather,  they  cease  to  exist 
the  moment  they  are  passed.  Words  written  in 
water,  pictures  on  the  sands.  Come,  Favereau,  are 
we  not  Parisians?  If  I  have  taken  a  cup  of  tea  in 
the  boudoir  of  celle-ci,  or  cracked  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne at  the  supper  of  celiii-la  ;  if  I  have  gone  to 
Longchamps  on  the  drag  of  my  good  friend  Tel-et-tel, 
who  likes  Athenian  company,  or  if  I  have  lost  a  few 
nights'  sleep  and  a  few  rouleaux  of  gold  round  the 
Mirliton's  green  tables,  what  does  it  all  amount  to, 
in  fine?  .  .  .  Pleasures  without  a  morrow,  without 
a  memory.  The  glass  of  wine  a  man  drinks  in  good 
company,  the  jest  forgotten  in  the  laughter,  the 
merest  nibble  at  the  forbidden  fruit,  the  fruit  that 
grows  in  that  secret  orchard  which  every  man  (I 
mean  every  man  of  the  world,  of  our  world)  has  at 
the  back  of  the  open  garden  of  his  life.  Why, 
Favereau,  the  very  savour  of  that  wild  apple,  tart 
and  inferior  as  it  is,  is  sometimes  needed  to  bring  a 
man  to  a  right  understanding  of  the  value  of  better 
things." 

"Knowledge   of    good   and    evil,    in   fact,"    said 
Favereau,    gravely   jeering.      "But   your   idea,    my 

5 


66        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

dear  Edward,  is  hardly  novel.  The  experiment,  we 
are  told,  was  made  long  ago." 

"  And  am  I  not  a  son  of  Adam  ?  "  said  Cluny,  petu- 
lantly. "My  God!  and  you  too!  Ah,  come,  don't 
tell  me  you  have  never  slipped  into  the  secret 
orchard  and  that  you  have  never  known  the  taste, 
sweet  and  acrid,  of  the  forbidden  fruit!  Oh,  you 
have  not  been  immaculate  yourself!" 

Favereau  straightened  himself  and  fixed  a  glance 
of  the  saddest  severity  upon  Cluny:  the  ghosts  of 
the  errors  of  his  youth  rose  up  before  him. 

"I  have  not,"  he  said.  But  the  next  moment, 
under  the  pulse  of  a  surging  thought,  his  eye  flashed, 
his  face  became  suffused,  the  veins  on  his  temples 
swelled.  "I  have  not,"  he  repeated,  throwing  the 
words  at  his  companion  like  an  overwhelming  indict- 
ment; "but  I  have  not  been  married  to  Helen!" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Surprise,  suc- 
ceeded swiftly  by  an  ingenuous  shame,  showed  itself 
on  the  Duke's  face.  Favereau,  leaning  his  elbows 
on  his  knees,  dropped  his  crimsoning  forehead  into 
his  hands.  For  fifty-six  years  this  man's  blood  had 
coursed  and  fretted  and  toiled  at  the  service  of  a 
mind  and  heart  that  had  no  pity  on  self;  but  it  was 
young  enough  still  —  that  is,  strong  enough  and 
weak  enough  —  to  work  its  own  torture. 

"  Secret  orchard !  "  he  repeated,  "  Great  God !  " 

"And  was  it  for  this  I  gave  thee  up,  ok  my 
beloved!'* 


CHAPTER   VIII 

WHEN  the  Duke  next  spoke  it  was  in  an  altered 
manner. 

"You  are  right,"  said  he,  "a  thousand 
times  right;  and  I  am  wrong.  I  will  give  this  folly 
up,  as  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  I  would  not 
give  up  to  save  Helen  one  tear.  Oh,  believe  me, 
these  are  not  words  this  time!  Or  rather  it  is  one 
word,  my  word  of  honour.  You  do  believe  me?" 
He  stretched  out  his  hand  for  his  friend's  clasp. 
"  Have  you  ever  known  me  break  my  word  of  honour, 
Favereau }  I  '11  never  leave  her  again.  I  '11  try,  I  '11 
try  to  be  really  what  she  thinks  me." 

His  whole  soul  thrilled  in  his  voice.  Then,  as 
Favereau  made  no  answering  motion,  the  outstretched 
hand  trembled  a  second  and  dropped.  After  a  delib- 
erate pause  the  other  spoke. 

"It  must  have  required  something  more  than  — 
what  was  your  pretty  phrase  .-*  —  the  glass  of  wine  in 
merry  company,  the  jest  forgotten  in  the  laughter, 
to  bring  you  to  this." 

There  fell  a  curious  silence  upon  the  Duke. 
Leaning  forward,  both   eye   and   tone   as  keen,  as 


68         THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

searching,  and  as  merciless  as  the  surgeon's  lancet, 
Favereau  went  on : 

'*  In  what  category  in  his  scheme  of  those  harm- 
less—  what  am  I  saying?  ...  of  those  rather  meri- 
torious, *  pleasures  without  a  morrow, '  does  the  Duke 
of  Cluny  place  the  young  lady  with  the  flaxen  hair?  " 

"  My  God ! "  said  Cluny.  The  bench  shook  under 
his  violent  start. 

Favereau  stopped  short :  the  first  cut  of  his  knife 
had  laid  bare  the  hidden  sore. 

"  My  God ! "  said  the  Duke  again,  and  every  drop 
of  blood  ebbed  from  his  face.  "How  did  you 
know?" 

"  Everything  is  always  known,"  returned  Favereau, 
with  his  sad,  cold  glance. 

"My  God!"  repeated  Cluny  once  more,  this  time 
almost  in  a  whisper.  "Who  told  you?  Do  others 
know?" 

"  It  was  spoken  of,  my  dear  fellow,  at  the  club. 
It  may  yet  be  talked  about  in  the  drawing-room. 
Sit  down,  Edward.  Why  this  agitation?  You 
have  so  successfully  (I  will  again  borrow  your  pic- 
turesque form  of  expression)  cracked  a  bottle  of 
champagne  with  this  one,  drunk  an  intimate  cup  of 
tea  with  that  other  one,  that  I  do  not  think  yotir 
reputation  is  likely  to  suffer  so  very  much."  Then, 
changing  his  tone  of  icy  bantering  to  one  of  fierce 
resentment,  "But,  Helen,  Edward,  Helen?  Listen: 
I  had  to  stop  Madame  Rodriguez's  mouth  just  now. 
Oh!  all  out  of  her  love  for  Helen,  she  wanted  to 
advise  her  how  to  keep  a  husband  at  home.     Great 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         69 

heavens !  You  are  not  an  absolute  fool.  To  have 
such  happiness  —  such  happiness,  my  God !  "  —  his 
voice  failed  him  for  an  instant  —  "and  to  jeopardise 
it,  for  what?  for  the  sweet  acrid  savour  of  your 
secret  orchard  fruit!     Faugh!" 

Cluny  opened  his  pale  lips  to  speak,  but  could 
find  no  word. 

"The  devil,  man!"  broke  out  the  Minister,  with 
a  fresh  gust  of  anger.  "Do  you  think  that  you, 
Duke  of  Cluny,  can  walk  the  sands  of  Narbonne 
with  a  discreet  conquest  and  pass  for  an  unknown 
bourgeois  by  the  simple  expedient  of  anonymity?  I 
have  warned  you  before.  It  was  bad  enough,  in 
society.  But  this  business !  Come,  who  is  that 
yellow-haired  girl?     Where  is  she  now?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  exclaimed  Cluny,  with  a  goaded 
cry.  "I  don't  know.  I  don't  want  to  know.  I  '11 
never  see  her  again.  I  only  wish  I  never  had.  Oh, 
it  was  the  most  devilish  pitfall !  " 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  took  a  few  restless  paces, 
returned  and  flung  himself  down  again  beside  the 
still  figure  of  his  friend. 

"Pshaw!"  said  he,  with  a  laugh  that  rang  rather 
tremulously,  "I  declare  you  terrified  me!  My  good 
Favereau,  I  might  have  remembered  your  talent  for 
taking  everything  connected  with  matrimonial  obli- 
gations in  the  tragic  mood.  Oh!"  —  stopping  with 
a  quick  gesture  the  anticipated  crushing  retort  —  "I 
don't  want  to  defend  myself  any  more.  You  are 
right,  more  right,  perhaps,  than  you  have  any  idea 
of.     Favereau,  a  fortnight   ago,  had   you   preached 


70        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

me  your  sermon,  I  could  have  laughed,  and  would 
have  laughed,  in  your  face,  because,  believe  me  or 
not,  for  all  my  folly  my  conscience  was  then  clear. 
Now.  .  .  .  Well,  now  I  have  had  a  lesson.  Great 
heavens,  and  what  a  lesson!  Oh!  I  can  never  tell 
you,  for  I  can  never  explain  to  myself,  how  this 
thing  came  to  pass  with  me." 

" Facilis  descensus,''  muttered  Favereau  between 
his  teeth.  "Alas,  my  poor  friend,  the  explanation 
is  so  easy  ! " 

"But  it  is  done  with,  thank  God,  it  is  done  with  !  " 
cried  Cluny,  moving  restlessly.  "I  have  not  one 
moment's  uneasiness  on  that  score.  Helen  can 
never  know.  She '11  not  credit  idle  gossip  .  .  .  and 
with  me  always  by  her  side  .  .  .  I  '11  never  risk 
myself  away  from  her  again.  Reassure  yourself: 
I  've  had  a  lesson  !  " 

"My  dear  Edward,"  said  Favereau,  and  there  was 
not  the  least  accession  of  warmth  in  his  accents, 
"when  I  began  this  conversation  to-day,  it  was  in 
no  very  comfortable  frame  of  mind.  But  my  fore- 
bodings were  nothing  to  the  anxiety  with  which  your 
present  attitude  fills  me.  It  must  have  been  a 
serious  tripping  to  have  produced  this  fervour  of 
penitence.  I  have  heard  it  said,"  he  went  on  cyni- 
cally, "that  penitence  is  merely  a  higher  sounding 
name  for  fear  of  consequences." 

Cluny  laughed  nervously.  "Not  with  me,"  said 
he.  "There  is  not  a  chance,  not  the  smallest  prob- 
ability of  any  consequences ;  I  mean  of  its  ever  reach- 
ing Helen's  ears.     And  after  all,  that  is  all  I  care 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         71 

for.  It  is,  and  will  remain  a  matter  without  a 
morrow  .  .  .  except  as  regards  the  warning  to  my- 
self.    You  shall  judge.     Let  me  tell  you." 

The  elder  man  raised  a  deprecating  hand. 

"I  should  like  to  tell  you,"  insisted  Cluny  in  his 
boyish  way.  "  The  confession  will  set  a  seal  upon 
the  compact  I  have  just  made."  And  then  he  added, 
with  naive  egoism,  "  It  would  be  a  great  relief  to  me 
that  you  should  know." 

Favereau  made  a  reluctant  gesture  of  assent. 
Propping  his  elbow  on  his  knee  again  and  his  chin 
on  his  hand,  shading  his  face  but  turning  an  atten- 
tive ear,  he  prepared  to  listen. 

Something  in  the  weary  resignation  of  the  attitude 
struck  his  companion  with  humourous  recollection; 
he  gave  a  quick  youthful  laugh. 

Within  the  house,  passing  an  open  window  upstairs, 
Helen  caught  the  sound  and  paused  a  second,  with 
smiling  lips  and  warmth  at  her  heart.  To  hear 
Cluny  laugh  was,  for  her,  the  sweetest  music  on 
earth. 

"Evidently  you  have  missed  your  vocation,"  the 
Duke  cried.  "  What  a  famous  father  confessor  you 
would  have  made!  Oh,  that  attitude,  even  to  the 
sigh  of  preparing  patience !  Our  good  Canon  him- 
self could  not  have  done  it  better." 

But  M.  Favereau  did  not  deign  an  answer;  the 
melancholy  eye  looked  the  despairing  summing  up 
of  a  few  minutes  before :  "  Incorrigible !  " 


72         THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

With  recovered  earnestness  the  Duke  started  on 
his  story. 

"On  my  way  to  d'Entragues'  yacht  ten  days  ago 
—  Helen  knew  I  was  going  —  at  a  cross  station,  just 
as  the  train  was  moving  off,  there  was  thrust,  panting, 
upon  my  solitude,  almost  thrown  in  by  a  fussy  guard, 
another  traveller,  a  girl.  She  looked  so  fresh,  so 
simple,  so  young,  that  I  assure  you  my  first  impulse 
was  absolutely  paternal.  I  helped  her  to  settle  her 
humble  belongings,  that  were  scattered  all  over  the 
place;  I  closed  the  window  for  her,  threw  away  my 
cigar,  thinking,  as  I  scanned  the  modest  face  with 
its  downcast  eyes,  that  I  had  never  seen  a  prettier 
type  of  innocent  girlhood.  She  had  light  curls, 
tied  back  with  a  riband.  She  had  that  wonderfully 
milk-white  skin  that  goes  with  such  pale  hair,  and 
lips  like  a  folded  flower." 

He  paused  for  comment ;  there  was  none.  Where- 
upon, with  a  shade  of  effort,  he  proceeded  — 

"She  prattled  me,  between  bashful  thanks,  a  little 
tale:  how  she  was  going  on  a  holiday  visit,  how  she 
had  missed  her  train,  her  chaperon  —  what  do  I 
know !  She  was  too  shy,  it  seemed,  to  venture  a 
glance  at  me  the  while.  What  could  I  do,  but,  at 
our  common  station,  help  her  with  her  luggage,  see 
her  into  a  fly  .■*  Just  as  we  were  about  to  part  (there 
was  not,  I  swear  it,  there  could  not  have  been  a 
shade  of  ulterior  thought  in  my  mind)  as  I  stood 
lifting  my  hat:  .  .  .  'Adieu,  Made^noiselle,'  .  .  .  the 
most  fatherly,  the  most  innocent  of  men!  Just  as 
she  was  driving  off,  I  say,  she  suddenly  leant  for- 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         73 

ward,  and  for  the  first  time  raising  those  modest 
drooping  lids,  looked  at  me  full  in  the  face.  And 
in  her  eyes  I  saw  —  I  saw  the  devil !  " 

Here  came  a  moment's  ominous  silence.  The 
father  confessor  made  an  uneasy  movement.  But 
he  merely  said,  his  face  still  shaded : 

"  Edward,  I  had  rather  you  kept  your  story  to 
yourself." 

"Well,"  pursued  the  other,  unheeding,  "I  should 
have  been  less  than  human  if  the  extraordinary  con- 
trast between  the  childlike  innocence  of  the  girl's 
whole  appearance  and  the  diabolical  meaning  and 
knowledge  in  her  eyes  —  those  windows,  we  are  told, 
of  the  soul  —  had  not  piqued  my  interest  curiously. 
Which  lied.-'  The  child-like  modesty,  or  the  brazen 
challenge? 

"  I  swear  I  did  not  seek  her  out.  The  devil  was 
in  it  all!  D'Entragues  had  to  hang  about  the  har- 
bour :  day  after  day  not  a  breath  of  wind  —  we  were 
frequently  in  the  town.  Favereau,  I  met  that 
wanton  child  again  and  again !  Now  she  would  be 
with  friends,  quiet,  respectable,  dowdy  people  they 
seemed.  Now  she  would  be  alone,  innocently  gaz- 
ing into  the  waters  from  the  pier;  or  I  might  come 
across  her  stitching,  oh  so  industriously,  some  little 
bit  of  embroidery  in  a  retired  corner  of  the  public 
gardens.  But  always  she  contrived  to  throw  me  one 
of  those  devil's  looks.     At  last  one  evening " 

"Edward,"  interrupted  his  friend,  straightening 
himself,  and  speaking  this  time  with  marked  deci- 


74        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

sion,  "  I  had  rather  you  kept  your  story  to  your- 
self." 

"  Ah ! "  cried  the  other,  wounded,  "  when  I  was  a 
boy,  you  never  refused  to  listen  to  my  troubles." 

Favereau  looked  round  at  him  with  a  troubled 
glance  and  a  heavy  sigh,  and  muttered : 

"You  have  got  your  innocent  boy's  eyes  still." 
Composing  himself  once  more  to  resignation,  "  Well, 
go  on,"  he  said. 

"We  spoke,"  said  the  Duke,  in  the  disjointed 
phraseology  of  a  difficult  confession.  "The  enigma 
had  haunted  me  too  long.  I  —  I  felt  I  must  solve  it. 
I  was  devoured  with  curiosity,  unholy  if  you  will, 
to  know  which  lied  —  the  mouth,  or  the  eyes.  We 
spoke,  then.  Oh,  that  hateful  pier,  in  the  dusk, 
with  the  lapping  of  the  water  and  the  sickly  smell 
of  the  green  sea-slime!  And  the  face  of  the  little 
temptress,  as  pure  as  a  white  flower  against  the 
yellow  sky,  and  oh,  those  eyes,  those  eyes !  I  tell 
you,  man,  they  had  something  hellish  in  their  power. 
And  I  believed  the  eyes  .  .  .  not  the  mouth !  It 
amounts  to  this,  before  heaven:  I  was  not  the 
seducer.  .  .  .  And  yet,  when  too  late  .  .  .  Oh,  old 
friend,"  he  went  on,  "do  not  be  too  hard  on  me!" 

Too  hard  on  him !  The  same  words  that,  but  an 
hour  before,  Helen  had  used  when  sweetly  pleading 
forgiveness  for  an  over-good  deed.  Favereau  could 
have  groaned  aloud. 

"As  you  blame  me,"  urged  Cluny,  "consider  the 
ethics  of  our  world.  You  yourself  have  laughed,  in 
your  day,  at  the  virtuous  young  man.     Have  we  not 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD        75 

all  been  taught,  with  our  first  cigarette,  that  a  man 
may  be  anything,  in  his  relations  with  women,  rather 
than  a  Joseph?  Why,  you  yourself,  I'll  stake  my 
life,  would  secretly  prefer  to  be  dubbed  Don 
Juan!" 

"Surely,"  said  Favereau,  with  a  withering  smile, 
*'  never  was  there  one  more  ingenious  in  finding  good 
reasons  for  evil  deeds  !  I  will  not  remind  you  of  the 
obvious  proverb,  Edward.  All  this,  however,  is  very 
unprofitable  discussion  and  I  cannot  see  what  satis- 
faction your  confession,  as  you  call  it,  can  bring 
either  to  yourself  or  to  me.  You  proceeded,  on  those 
shores  of  Narbonne,  to  solve  the  enigma,  I  presume.? 
It  is  to  be  hoped  that  at  least  the  haunting  of  the 
.   .   .  problem,  is  laid,  and  well  laid." 

Cluny  arrested  his  friend  as  he  was  about  to 
rise. 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  he,  "I  am  more  haunted 
than  ever.  Ah,  no,"  in  a  sharp  tone  of  pain,  read- 
ing the  expression  of  his  friend's  face,  "not  in  that 
sense!  But  —  how  shall  I  tell  you.?  It  comes  upon 
me  as  it  did  then,  like  a  nightmare,  too  horrible  to 
be  real.  Perhaps  her  story  was  true;  perhaps  she 
was  the  innocent  school-girl  after  all !  " 

"  The  devil ! "  cried  Favereau,  springing  to  his 
feet. 

"The  devil  incarnate  in  a  girl's  soft  frame!  We 
were  but  a  day  at  that  cursed  place.  Oh,  she 
arranged  it  all !  How  could  a  man  have  thought, 
have  dreamt?  Yet  all  at  once  she  said  something 
and  the  awful  doubt  entered  my  soul.     I  was  fright- 


76        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

ened.  I  had  but  one  thought :  to  extricate  myself. 
Yet,  believe  me  or  not,  man  of  the  world  as  I  am,  I 
was  the  entrapped  one." 

"The  woman  tempted  me,"  said  Favereau,  with 
a  curling  lip.  "Oh,  true  son  of  Adam!  Bad 
enough  to  blame  the  woman,  but  what  of  blaming 
the  girl .? " 

"You  are  severe,"  cried  Cluny,  who  flushed  and 
grew  pale. 

"  Severe !  "  echoed  Favereau.  "  I  have  not  your 
gift  of  language,  Edward.  Throughout  your  tale 
there  is  but  one  word  that  rises  to  my  lips/' 

"Helen!  yes."  The  cry  came  from  Cluny's  very 
heart.  "  I  assure  you,  Favereau,  I  nearly  went 
mad." 

"Very  likely,"  said  Favereau,  icily.  "Mean- 
while, what  did  you  doV 

"Do?"  said  the  other,  with  a  sound  between  a 
laugh  and  a  sob.  "Do.-*  I  fled!  I  invented  an  ex- 
cuse for  d'Entragues  and  I  fled  that  very  day. 
Where  that  strange  creature  had  been  brought  up, 
what  companions  she  had  had,  what  books  she  had 
been  fed  on,  what  evil  strain  ran  in  her  blood,  I  can 
only  surmise.  At  times,  a  word,  a  look,  and  she 
opened  a  vista  of  unconscious  depravity,  before  which 
I  stood  appalled,  appalled!  The  next  moment  —  " 
He  looked  with  a  set  face  at  Favereau  and  in  a 
lower  voice  added:  "Why,  she  thought  I  was  go- 
ing to  marry  her,  Favereau  !  She  did  indeed.  Don't 
look  at  me  like  that !  'T  is  I  you  should  pity.  I 
tell  you,  with  such  as  she,  her  fate  was  inevitable. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD        77 

...  I  explained  to  her  that  there  were  insuperable 
obstacles  to  our  union.  I  have  not  seen  her  since. 
I  sent  her  a  necklace  of  pearls.  Oh,"  he  pursued, 
as  if  wildly  endeavouring  to  convince  a  loudly  re- 
belling conscience,  "  there  was  not  one  gem  on  that 
string  but  would  suffice  to  dry  all  her  tears!" 

Favereau  crossed  his  legs ;  folded  his  arms.  "  And 
do  you  flatter  yourself,"  he  asked  very  quietly,  after 
a  pause,  "  that  she  cannot  run  you  down  ?  " 

"Impossible,"  cried  the  Duke,  eagerly.  "She 
has  not  the  remotest  idea  who  I  am.  She  knows  me 
only  as  Monsieur  Le  Chevalier.     It  is " 

Under  Favereau's  steady  look,  Cluny  became 
troubled,   hesitated,   stammered. 

"  It  is  a  name  I,  a  name,  oh,  hang  it  all !  a  name 
the  inferior  self  sometimes  assumes." 

The  Minister  got  up  with  great  deliberation,  but- 
toned his  coat,  shook  down  the  folds  of  his  trousers 
below  the  knee,  brushed  his  sleeve,  and  taking  up 
his  hat  from  the  bench-corner  upon  which  he  had 
hung  it,  placed  it  at  a  very  exact  angle  on  his  close- 
cropped  head.  Then  he  began  to  walk  towards  the 
house. 

"Where  are  you  going.?"  asked  his  friend,  in  a 
humble  voice. 

"Anywhere,"  replied  Favereau,  without  turning 
his  head,   "away  from  you." 

"  Have  you  nothing  more  to  say  to  me  ? " 

"Nothing." 

Like  a  chidden  chilcl,  Cluny  stood  and  stared  with 
dejected  expression  after  the  retreating  figure.     At 


78        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

the  foot  of  the  steps,  however,  the  elder  man  hesi- 
tated; then,  after  a  second's  reflection,  wheeled 
quickly  and  came  back.  Placing  both  hands  on 
Cluny's  shoulders,  he  gazed  at  him,  a  whole  world 
of  angry  affection  in  his  eyes. 

"It  is  no  use,"  said  he.  "However  my  judgment 
condemns  you,  Edward,  my  heart  cannot  cast  you 
off.  Alas!  it  was  right,"  he  went  on  passionately, 
"  that  the  world  should  have  shaken  the  yoke  of  you 
Stuarts  from  their  neck.  It  is  good  that  you,  almost 
the  last  of  them,  are  childless.  It  is  right  that  you 
should  die  away,  as  you  are  doing,  all  of  you,  root 
and  branch.  Your  race  is  a  scourge  upon  humanity; 
people  will  love  you  with  the  love  that  passes  the 
ordinary  love  of  mankind;  and  so  long  as  there  is 
a  sprig  of  you  left,  you  will  go  on  betraying  that 
love.  Faithless  to  your  wives,  to  your  mistresses, 
to  your  friends,  to  your  own  better  selves,  and  yet, 
forgiven,  beloved,  beloved  in  spite  of  all  and  through 
all!" 

He  paused  again  and  contemplated  with  conflict- 
ing emotions  the  downcast  face  before  him;  then, 
with  an  abrupt  change  of  tone : 

"  This  is  your  last  escapade  ? "  he  demanded. 
"You  give  me  your  word?" 

The  Duke  raised  his  eyes,  full  of  sad  pride.  "  I 
don't  give  it  twice,"  he  answered. 

"Well,  amen,  then!"  cried  Favereau.  "Amen 
to  the  good  resolve.     And  let  the  past  be  buried ! " 

He  clasped  the  other  by  the  hand.  The  sun, 
through  an  arch  of  the  distant  aqueduct,  dipped  be- 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         79 

hind  the  sky  line.  The  sudden,  mysterious  twilight 
breeze  awoke  and  shook  the  trees.  A  storm-cloud 
had  gathered  upon  the  radiant  west.  A  chill,  a 
trouble,  a  dimness  seemed  to  fall  upon  the  gilded 
world  and  upon  Favereau's  boding  heart. 


CHAPTER   IX 

""TTTELL,"  said  Nessie,  "you  are  a  nice  pair! 

W  Are  n't  you  downright  ashamed  of  yourself, 
Duke,  to  leave  poor  Helen  to  bear  the  first 
charge  of  the  invasion  all  alone?  Oh,  my!  that 
grand  old  aunt  of  yours  is  in  a  rich  temper  to-day. 
I  can  tell  you.  And  it  all  fell  on  Helen,  of  course. 
And  you,  with  that  devoted  friendship  of  yours. 
Mister  Minister,  why  weren't  you  at  least  around  to 
attract  a  little  of  the  electricity  in  another  direction?  " 

Nessie,  with  the  most  becoming  lace  scarf  twisted 
about  her  little  dark  head,  flashed  a  smile  and  a  mis- 
chievous dancing  look  from  one  man  to  the  other. 

The  savage  and  the  man  of  breeding,  the  highest 
and  the  lowest  in  the  scale  of  humanity,  have  this  at 
least  in  common:  the  art  of  disguising  their  emo- 
tions. Not  even  Nessie's  sharp  eyes,  not  all  her 
keen  perception  could  discover  a  trace  of  the  storm 
that  had  just  shaken  these  courteous,  easy-mannered 
gentlemen. 

"  Poor  dear  Madame  de  Lormes,"  she  proceeded, 
delighted  to  monopolise  the  conversation.  "  I  feel 
sorry  for  her  this  evening,  for  it  must  be  admitted 
that  fate  is  pretty  hard  on  her.     Why,  that  woman 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD        8i 

has  been  labouring  these  thirty  years  to  turn  herself 
into  a  perfect  French  Marquise  of  the  old  genuine 
stock,  and  didn't  she  just  succeed  in  making  her- 
self more  Faubourg-Saint-Germainy  than  the  Fau- 
bourg itself!  And  didn't  she  produce  as  perfect  a 
specimen  of  your  modern  Parisian  monkey-on-a-stick 
as  any  other  old  cat  of  the  region  could  do  !  " 

"  I  admire,"  said  the  Duke,  lightly,  "  the  correct- 
ness of  your  natural  history  illustrations." 

"  Well,  I  guess  you  take  my  meaning  all  the  same. 
It 's  true  to  life,  anyhow.  Say  now,  is  n't  it  hard  on 
her,  poor  soul,  after  all  these  years  that  the  past 
should  rise  up  against  her  in  the  shape  of  a  sturdy 
American  son,  a  kind  of  living  testimony  of  the  two 
errors  of  her  youth:  I  mean  of  having  been  born 
under  the  Stars  and  Stripes  and  of  having  wedded  in 
her  salad  days  the  late  forgotten  Septimus  P.  Dodd 
of  Philadelphia.  And  to  hear  yourself  called  '  mother ' 
and  '  old  lady '  in  good  fresh  Yank !  He  is  a  very 
fine  man,"  said  Nessie,  after  a  slight  pause,  with  her 
head  on  one  side.     She  gave  a  trifling  sigh. 

"  What,  have  they  arrived?  "  cried  the  remiss  host. 

"  Oh,  they  '11  be  out  here  in  a  minute,"  said  the 
lady,  arresting  him  with  her  vivacious  little  hand. 
•'I  dare  say  they '11  forgive  you  for  not  being  there 
to  embrace  them:  I  received  them,"  she  explained 
coquettishly.  "  Helen  was  towing  the  old  lady  to 
her  room,  and  doing  something  to  trim  up  that 
ridiculous  orphan.  Oh,  my  dear  Duke,  what  an 
absurdity !  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that 
funny   child?      Why,    she   could   neither   open   her 

6 


82        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD   . 

mouth  nor  her  eyes.  And  as  for  her  hat!  Well, 
I  was  just  taking  a  turn  towards  the  rose-garden  (I 
always  say  the  birds  and  the  sunset  here  go  way 
ahead  of  the  garden  of  Eden)  when  I  saw  in  the  path 
below  a  Trilby  hat  and  as  fine  a  pair  of  shoulders  as 
ever  walked  out  of  Harvard  playground.  '  That 's  my 
hero,'  thought  I  to  myself.  And  beside  him  there 
were  a  pair  of  cuffs  and  an  eyeglass  and  a  jockey 
club  tie,  and  something  just  holding  them  together, 
'  That  can  only  be  the.  noble  Marquis  de  Lormes,'  I 
knew.  So  I  waited  for  them  of  course,  and  we  had 
quite  a  nice  little  conversation.  Our  Marquis  did 
the  introduction,  Mirliton  style.  '  TienSy  Ma'ame 
Rodriguez!  How  do?  Via  rAmericain.  My  little 
brother !  A  famous  type,  eh?  Oh  yes,  we  preferred 
to  walker.  When  the  train  stoppa,  my  faith,  I  said 
I  'd  rather  foot  it  than  to  sit  opposite  Maman  in  the 
family  berlingot  !  Al  raight !  '  .  .  .  And  *  the  little 
brother,'  looking  at  him  the  while  as  a  big  Newfound- 
land looks  at  a  yapping  terrier,  not  certain  if  he  '11 
wag  his  tail  at  him  or  crush  him  with  his  great  paw. 
Well,  I  tell  you  that  American  cousin  is  a  man ! 
He 's  got  the  breath  of  the  sea  about  him.  And  it 
did  me  real  good  to  feel  the  grip  of  a  hearty  Ameri- 
can hand  again.     Ah,  here  they  come  !  " 

There  was  the  murmur  of  voices :  a  deep  complain- 
ing contralto,  an  indeterminate  falsetto,  and  a  few 
notes  from  a  fine  unmodulated  bass. 

Large,  heated,  injured,  supported  on  either  side 
by  her  sons,  the  Marquise  de  Lormes  made  her 
appearance  at  the  top  of  the  terrace  steps. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         83 

Under  the  formally  waved  bandeaux  of  sleek  iron- 
grey  hair,  her  face  retained,  in  spite  of  age,  the  traces 
of  a  high-nosed,  severe,  majestic  beauty.  Her  figure, 
arrayed  in  vestment-like  garb,  was  less  well  preserved ; 
but  its  proportions  were  so  magnificent  and  carried 
with  such  dignity  that,  in  the  average  mind,  criticism 
was  sunk  in  awe. 

She  rarely  spoke  but  on  the  breath  of  a  sigh.  Her 
French  was  peculiarly  deliberate,  ultra-classical,  and 
richly  Parisian  in  its  rippling  of  r's  and  breadth  of  a's. 

On  the  right  the  Marquis  duteously  supported 
her  massive  hand  upon  his  little  twig  of  an  arm.  On 
the  left,  in  almost  ludicrous  contrast,  rose  the  broad 
shoulders  and  bronzed  head  of  the  American. 

"  I  shall  feel  better  in  the  open  air,"  complained 
the  contralto. 

"  Famous  oven-weather  to-night,"  proclaimed  the 
falsetto. 

"  Tropical  quite,"  commented  the  bass,  with  a 
good-humoured  note  of  mockery. 

"My  dear  Aunt!"  cried  Cluny,  advancing  with 
his  perfect  grace  of  courtesy,  and  stooping  to  kiss  the 
fat  dimpled  hand  extended  to  him. 

"  Ah  I  my  poor  Charles-Edward,  how  do  you  do?  " 
she  sighed,  and,  swaying  forward,  deposed  a  regal 
salute  upon  his  brow.  Thus  might  two  crowned 
heads  meet  and  greet. 

"  Tip  us  your  flapper,  old  horse,"  said  the  Marquis, 
cheerfully  (in  an  elegant  French  equivalent). 

Now  the  Marquise  closed  her  eyes,  indicated  with 
a  faint  gesture  the  figure  behind  her,  and  after  com- 


84         THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

pression  of  the  lips  and  slight  convulsion  of  the 
throat,  observed  — 

"Your  cousin  from  America  —  my  son,  Mr.  .  .  . 
Dodd." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  sailor,  in  answer  to  his  host's  cordial 
words  of  welcome,  "  I  am  glad  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance." And  the  Duke  forthwith  had  an  experience 
of  the  genuine  American  grip,  and  was  not  uncon- 
scious of  what  Nessie  had  aptly  described  as  the  fresh 
sea  atmosphere. 

"  Take  me  to  a  chair,"  moaned  the  Dowager. 
"  My  knees  are  trembling." 

She  tottered  a  few  steps  on  Cluny's  arm,  shud- 
dering as,  behind  her,  breezy  accents  that  recalled 
deliberately  forgotten  associations,  remarked  that 
"  the  old  lady  was  sort  of  bowled  over  by  the  thun- 
der in  the  air." 

As  the  group  advanced  towards  the  modestly  re- 
tiring Favereau  and  the  smiling  Madame  Rodriguez, 
the  fainting  Marquise  recovered  sufficient  life  to  make 
a  play  of  eyeglass  which  as  witheringly  ignored  Nessie 
as  it  marked  her  companion. 

"  Do  I  see  Monsieur  a  —  Favereau?"  she  inquired. 

The  Minister  of  Public  Worship  and  Education 
bowed  profoundly. 

"  Sir !  "  said  the  lady.  The  strictly  measured 
inclination  of  her  head,  the  reproving  rustle  of  the 
silk  skirt,  might  have  petrified  a  less  stout  heart. 

"  My  dear  Charles-Edward,"  she  then  breathed 
gustily  into  her  nephew's  attentive  ear,  "I  do  not 
blame  you  for  fidelity  in  friendship,  but  I  cannot  but 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD        85 

continue  to  regard  these  minions  of  the  Republic  as 
sadly  out  of  place  in  the  house  of  a  Fitzroy." 

She  closed  her  eyes  upon  the  abhorrent  spectacle, 
and,  relapsing  into  weakness,  again  requested  the 
charity  of  a  chair. 

The  sailor  thrust  forward  a  seat ;  the  Duke  gently 
directed  the  weight  of  the  Marquise  into  the  same; 
Favereau  provided  a  footstool;  and  the  Marquis 
stuck  two  lean  fingers  between  his  mother's  elbow 
and  the  arm  of  the  chair  to  prevent  the  shock  of 
contact. 

"  Another  day  of  such  emotions  will  kill  me.  Oh, 
Charles-Edward,"  went  on  Madame  de  Lormes  with 
rising  pathos,  "  you  do  not  know  what  it  means  to  be 
a  mother !  " 

"  True  indeed,  my  dear  Aunt,"  admitted  Cluny, 
respectfully. 

"  Seeing  me  again  after  so  long  has  been  too  much 
for  her,"  said  the  sailor  to  Nessie. 

"  Never  mind  la  Maman"  whispered  the  Marquis, 
good-humouredly  digging  a  sharp  reassuring  elbow 
into  his  step-brother's  ribs.  *'  You're  rather  big, 
you  see,  to  come  on  one  all  of  a  sudden,  but  she  '11 
resign  herself;  Maman  is  very  pious.  She  knows 
how  to  resign  herself" 

He  edged  round  to  Nessie  as  he  spoke.  "  Terribly 
pious,  la  Maman^'  he  reasseverated,  "  eh,  Ma'ame 
Rodriguez?"  Then,  lowering  his  voice  still  more, 
with  a  killing  ogle,  happily  secure  behind  his  mother's 
back,  **  Famous  chance  to  find  you  here !  "  he 
chuckled. 


86        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"  Anatole !  "  cried  the  Marquise,  with  sharp  intui- 
tion. 

"  Yes,  my  Mother." 

"  Stand  behind  my  chair." 

The  French  son  trotted  obediently  to  heel.  The 
American  son  opened  large,  amazed  blue  eyes,  and 
misgiving  crept  into  his  independent  soul. 

Nessie  noted  the  expression  of  his  face,  and  mis- 
chievously whispered  in  his  ear: 

"  My  !  yes,  you  '11  find  them  a  queer  lot  over  here  ! 
But  there  —  these  French  they  may  be  shaky  on  the 
Seventh  Commandment  now  and  again,  but  you  bet 
they  're  solid  on  the  Fifth  !  " 

Meanwhile,  Madame  de  Lormes  had  started  upon 
a  new  grievance  with  fresh  gusto. 

"  Explain  to  me,"  she  demanded  of  the  Duke, 
**  how  you  came  to  allow  Helen  to  start  this  foolish 
business  about  the  orphan?  When  she  asked  me  to 
chaperon  the  young  person  from  Paris  —  of  course  I 
could  refuse  nothing  to  your  house  —  I  must  confess 
that  I  was  surprised  at  the  communication,  more 
especially  as,  considering  the  circumstances  in  which 
I  find  myself  at  present,  it  seemed  strange  that  Helen 
should  have  thought  of  adding  to  my  burdens." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Cluny,  duly  apologetic,  "  Helen 
had  no  idea  that  you  were  in  any  trouble.  Indeed,  I 
hear  of  it  for  the  first  time  myself.    I  am  concerned." 

Madame  de  Lormes  raised  her  prominent  eyes  to 
stare  with  unaffected  astonishment  at  her  nephew. 

"Surely,"  she  exclaimed,  hoisting  herself  from  her 
reclining  position,  "  she  was  aware  of  George's  un- 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         87 

expected  arrival.  Helen,  as  a  woman,  might  have 
understood.  But,"  collapsing  again,  morally  and 
physically,  into  resignation,  "  it  is  only  a  mother  that 
can  understand  the  feelings  of  a  mother." 

Seeing  that  Madame  de  Lormes  seemed  to  look 
upon  the  arrival  of  her  trans-oceanic  son  as  an  un- 
mixed calamity,  the  mere  male  might  well  have  been 
excused  for  failing  to  comprehend  the  mysteries  of 
the  maternal  heart.  Cluny,  straightening  himself, 
exchanged  a  glance  of  amusement  with  Favereau. 

"  It  is  not  possible,"  the  contralto  resumed  with 
its  deepest  note  of  protest,  "  that  my  niece  can  be  in 
earnest  in  her  insane  project  of  adopting  that  objec- 
tionable school-girl." 

"  Hush ! "  here  cried  George  Dodd  with  some 
peremptoriness ;  for,  through  the  open  doorway,  his 
quick  eye  had  caught  in  the  gloom  of  the  hall  a  gleam 
of  white  approaching  skirts. 

"  Ah,  Helen  at  last !  "  cried  Cluny,  joyously,  the 
oppression  which  the  talk  with  Favereau  had  left 
upon  his  mind  being  lifted  at  the  approach  of  his 
wife. 

All  eyes  were  now  turned  upon  the  new-comers. 
No  one  noticed,  as  the  pair  advanced  into  distinctness 
out  of  shades  of  dusk,  intangible  still  yet  all-envelop- 
ing, that  the  Duke,  with  suddenly  livid  countenance 
and  limbs  struck  into  rigidity,  stood  staring  at  the 
slight  girlish  figure  that  demurely  moved  by  his  wife's 
side.  So  might  a  man  in  delirium  stare  upon  some 
horrible  creation  of  his  own  brain. 


88        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Helen's  sweet  face  beamed  as  she  looked  down  at 
the  small  bare  head  at  her  shoulder:  a  head  modestly 
bent,  on  which  a  wealth  of  pale  flaxen  curls  was  tied 
back  with  a  black  riband.  It  seemed  as  if  the  girl 
faltered  shyly  now  and  again,  and  Helen's  voice  of 
encouragement  reached  the  silent,  expectant  group. 
Favereau,  peering  through  his  glasses,  with  anticipa- 
tory disapproval  at  the  school-girl,  was  startled  out  of 
his  placid  mood  of  criticism  by  a  frenzied  clutch  on 
his  wrist  and  a  whispering  voice  in  his  ear.  The 
clutch  was  that  of  a  man's  hand,  ice-cold  and  wet; 
the  voice  was  hoarse  and  unrecognisable. 

"  Stand  before  me,  stand  before  me !  "  it  urged. 
"Don't  let  Helen  see  me.  I  —  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
going  mad  !  " 

Favereau  turned  round,  and  started  as  he  saw 
Cluny's  face. 

"  Edward !  "  he  ejaculated  under  his  breath. 

"  Hush ! "  cried  the  other  in  his  awful  whisper. 
"  Not  a  word,  for  God's  sake !  Stand  before  me,  I 
say  .  .  .  there,  like  that  .  .  .  screen  me  as  I  go 
down  the  steps  !  " 

Without  further  question  Favereau  allowed  himself 
to  be  dragged  a  few  paces  back  towards  the  edge  of 
the  terrace,  shielding  Cluny's  escape  into  the  garden. 
Helen  had  now  come  close.  Still  keeping  a  motherly 
hand  upon  her  companion's  shoulder,  she  looked 
round. 

"But  where  is  Cluny?"  she  asked,  surprised. 
"  I  want  to  introduce  this  child  to  him." 

There  was  a  general  movement  of  inquiry. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         89 

**  Why,  he  was  here  a  second  ago,"  said  Nessie. 

"  Farceur  de  Cltmy,"  squeaked  the  little  Marquis. 
"  Hates  school-girls  as  much  as  I  do."  (This  under 
his  breath.) 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Favereau,  hiding  an  uneasy 
bewilderment  under  an  assumption  of  his  usual 
geniality,  "  that  Edward's  affection  for  his  cigarette, 
and"  —  with  an  inclination  towards  the  Dowager  — 
"  Madame's  well-known  dislike  to  smoke,  are  respon- 
sible for  this  defection." 

Helen  looked  puzzled  and  disappointed.  But  in 
a  second  she  brightened  again. 

"  Ah,  well,"  she  said  gaily,  "  we  must  wait. 
Meanwhile,  you  are  a  sort  of  grandpapa,  my  old 
friend ;  "  —  she  pushed  the  girl  forward  as  she  spoke  — 
"this  is  Gioja,"  she  cried  triumphantly,  "  my  Gioja  !  " 
Madame  de  Lormes  groaned.  "  Gioja,  this  is  Grand- 
papa Favereau." 

The  girl  made  a  slight  curtsey.  Favereau  bowed, 
and  peered  benevolently  enough  at  the  pretty  face 
that  looked  wonderfully  small  and  pale  in  the  twilight. 

"  Helen  might  have  done  worse,"  was  his  first 
thought,  "  quite  lady-like,  quite  nice,  quite  inoffensive. 
Well,  it  is  not  so  bad." 

His  kind  face  was  wrinkled  into  a  smile.  He  bent 
again  to  speak.  As  he  did  so  the  girl  looked  up 
suddenly.  Her  eyes  met  his,  full  and  close. 
Favereau  raised  himself  with  a  jerk. 

"The  devil!" 

A  cold  sweat  broke  out  upon  him ;  he  thought 
he  must  have  called  the  words  aloud,  have  shrieked 


90        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

them.  He  felt  as  if  the  soHd  earth  had  given  way 
beneath  his  feet,  as  if  with  a  crash  the  world  had 
become  disintegrated  and  all  was  chaos  and  falling 
ruin. 

He  reeled  and  came  to  himself.  The  world  was 
where  it  stood.  The  old  chateau  reared  itself  against 
the  sky ;  there  was  an  indifferent  murmur  of  voices 
around  him,  and  Helen  was  laughing.     Laughing! 


BOOK  IL  —  THE  EVENING  OF  THE  DAT 

"And  thy  heaven  that  is  over  thy  head 
shall  be  brass,  and  the  earth  that  is  under 
thee  shall  be  iron^ — Deuteronomy. 


CHAPTER  X 

SEVEN  o'clock  in  the  Chateau  de  Luciennes. — 
Velvet-carpeted  silence  in  the  library ;  with- 
out, all  about,  the  machinery  of  the  great 
house  working  noiselessly  to  the  acme  of 
comfort;  the  massive  Louis  XIV,  clock 
ticking  the  flight  of  time  to  stately  measure;  a  log 
or  two  flickering  on  the  hearth  (one  of  the  Duke's 
fancies,  who  disliked  an  empty  fireplace) ;  the  sound 
of  the  rain,  fast  falling  on  the  terrace  stones,  all  but 
shut  out  by  casements  and  curtains;  the  cheerful 
licking  of  the  flames  adding  what  might  seem  the 
last  note  of  home  perfection  to  the  scene. 

On  nearly  the  whole  of  three  sides  of  the  room 
were  spread  the  books,  forming  what  the  Marquis 
de  Lormes  called  the  most  ficJiiie  library  in  France, 
for  there  was  hardly  a  book  in  it  younger  in  date 
than  the  second  Restoration.  The  late  Duke  had 
taken  a  good  deal  of  pride  in  making  complete  its 
unique  character;  and  Cluny  himself,  though  neither 
a  student  nor  an  antiquarian  like  his  father,  was  con- 
noisseur enough  to  appreciate  to  the  full  the  charm 
of  the  elegant,  the  stately,  the  quaint,  or  the  naively 
outspoken  old-world  company  assembled  in  his 
favourite  room.     He  would   have   considered   it   as 


94         THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

much  a  sin  against  art  and  taste  to  have  introduced 
among  them  a  George  Sand,  a  Maupassant,  or  a 
Prevost,  as  to  have  hung  even  the  best  canvas  from 
the  last  salon  beside  his  Hobbemas,  his  Lorraines, 
and  his  Vandycks. 

Surrounded  by  this  peace,  this  harmony  of  a  beau- 
tiful past  and  an  appreciative  present,  the  master  of 
the  house,  who  loved  his  home,  who  had  not  untruly 
said  of  himself  that  he  was  bound  by  his  very  heart- 
strings to  its  presiding  genius,  his  wife;  who  had 
returned  with  such  infinite  content  but  an  hour  ago 
to  his  paradise,  sat  now  alone,  wrapt  in  terror,  afraid 
to  face  the  hell  in  his  soul. 

The  light  from  a  silver  reading  lamp  just  caught 
within  its  radius  the  bent  head  ;  and  threw  every 
bone  of  the  clasped  hands,  locked  in  a  convulsive 
misery,  into  white  relief. 

Favereau,  already  in  evening  dress,  noiselessly 
opened  the  door  and  stood  on  the  threshold,  looking 
in.  He  found  it  hard  to  recognise  his  friend  in  the 
huddled  figure  by  the  fire.  After  a  moment's  con- 
templation, he  closed  the  door  and  advanced. 

Cluny  raised  his  head,  recognised  him  with  a  faint 
relaxation  upon  his  haggard  face ;  then,  extending 
his  hand,  but  without  rising,  said  tonelessly  — 

"  You  got  my  message?    Thank  you  for  coming." 

Even  as  a  little  while  ago  on  the  terrace,  Favereau 
took  no  notice  of  the  gesture ;  the  Duke  let  his  hand 
fall  upon  his  knee  again  with  a  sigh  of  misery  far 
beyond  the  touch  of  minor  grievance. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD        gs 

Once  or  twice  he  endeavoured  to  speak,  but  fruit- 
lessly. After  a  long  pause,  looking  away  dully  into 
the  happy  leaping  flames : 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you,"  he  muttered. 

The  other  folded  his  arms  on  the  back  of  the  tall 
chair  and  stood  another  second  or  two  in  silence, 
still  surveying  the  Duke  with  his  most  expressionless 
gaze. 

"  You  need  not,"  he  answered  at  last,  in  his  most 
expressionless  voice.     *'  I  know." 

The  unhappy  man  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  cry  of 
horror. 

*•  What !     Is  it  known  already?     My  God  !  " 

"Hush,"  said  Favereau,  commandingly ;  "control 
yourself."  And  with  a  change  of  voice  he  pursued 
arily,  "  You  have  quite  a  power  of  description.  I 
recognised  .  .  .  the  devil's  eyes." 

The  Duke  drew  a  breath  of  momentary  relief.  "  Is 
that  all  ?     Thank  Heaven  !  " 

*'  Is  not  that  enough?" 

Again  followed  silence.  Cluny  began  to  pace  the 
room.  Twice  he  wiped  impatiently  the  beading  per- 
spiration from  his  forehead.  Finally,  he  burst  forth 
with  that  vain  railing  against  trouble  which  none 
but  the  most  philosophic  seem  able  to  forbear. 

"  It  is  like  a  nightmare.  Could  any  one  have 
imagined  so  impossible,  so  diabolical  a  coincidence? 
There  were  a  million,  ten  hundred  million  chances 
against  it !  " 

Favereau's  low  voice  answered,  coldly  inexorable, 
like  the  utterance  of  an  oracle : 


96        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"  But  there  was  ofte  for  it.  When  a  man  puts  his 
happiness  to  the  chance,  he  stakes  to  lose,  sooner  or 
later." 

The  Duke  stared  at  him.  It  is  doubtful  whether, 
in  the  agonising  strain  of  grappling  with  an  insoluble 
problem,  these  words  of  useless  wisdom  conveyed 
any  meaning. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  What  is  to  be  done  ?  "  he  re- 
peated feverishly.     "  I  feel  as  if  my  head  were  going." 

"Keep  it  on  your  shoulders,"  said  Favereau,  this 
time  not  unkindly.     "  You  will  want  it  just  now." 

The  Duke  flung  himself  back  into  his  chair  and 
made  a  painful  effort  at  self-command. 

"  Advise  me,"  he  said.  "  I  will  do  anything  you 
tell  me.  .  .  .  Shall  I  invent  an  excuse  and  leave  the 
house  now,  before  I  meet  her?  " 

Favereau  came  round  to  his  friend's  chair,  sat 
down  and  turned  towards  him  eyes  in  which  severity 
had  almost  merged  into  pity  —  eyes  wise  and  sad, 
not  unlike  those  of  a  physician  by  the  bedside  of  a 
hopeless  case. 

"What  would  be  the  use  of  that?"  he  asked 
gently.  "A  mere  putting  off  of  the  evil  moment, 
with  added  complications." 

"  Shall  I  see  her  secretly,  then?  Give  her  money, 
send  her  away,  secure  her  departure,  her  silence,  at 
any  price?" 

"  Edward,"  cried  Favereau,  and  threw  hands  and 
eyes  upwards,  "  you  may  well  say  your  head  is 
going.  What,  man,  give  Helen's  happiness  into  such 
keeping  ?  " 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD         97 

The  Duke  seemed  to  collapse,  physically  and 
mentally, 

"  Then  tell  me  for  pity's  sake,"  he  exclaimed  in  an 
almost  extinguished  voice,  "  what  is  to  be  done." 

It  has  been  said  that  the  test  of  courage  is  respon- 
sibility. M.  Favereau  was  one  of  those  men  who  are 
bound  to  succeed  as  leaders  in  whatever  walk  of  life 
they  may  choose,  partly  owing  to  this  very  quality 
of  being  willing  and  able  to  bear  responsibility,  partly 
because  of  his  extraordinary  promptitude  in  weigh- 
ing chances  and  making  up  his  mind  to  a  definite 
course  of  action  in  an  emergency.  He  did  not  now 
hesitate  in  his  advice  upon  a  complication  so  hideous 
to  a  chivalrous  mind  that  the  wisest  might  well  have 
faltered. 

"  There  are  two  courses  open  to  you,"  he  answered 
in  his  clear,  didactic  voice.  "  One  is  God's  way. 
The  other  the  devil's  way.  The  first  is  to  make  a 
clean  breast  of  it  to  Helen,  and  then  to  try  and  start 
afresh,  and  build  a  new  life  together  out  of  the  ruins 
of  the  old." 

Cluny  had  started  to  his  feet.  "  It  would  kill 
her !  "  he  cried,  and  the  look  he  cast  upon  his  coun- 
sellor was  unconsciously  one  of  fierce  reproach. 

Favereau's  lips  were  twisted  under  his  moustache 
with  a  smile  of  indescribable  bitterness. 

By  so  much  as  his  power  of  love  was  greater  than 
that  of  the  wretched  man  before  him  ;  by  the  breadth 
of  the  gulf  that  divided  his  stainless  constancy  to  a 
woman  he  had  given  up  from  the  easy  sophistry  of 
her  husband's  infidelity;  by  the  difference  between  a 

7 


98         THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

light  nature  and  an  earnest  one ;  by  all  such  measure 
seemed  his  own  agony  for  Helen  incomparably 
greater  than  that  of  his  friend. 

Since  the  fatal  situation  had  become  revealed  to 
him  his  soul  had  never  ceased  to  lament  within  him 
with  the  cry  of  helpless  tenderness :  "  Helen  !  What 
will  become  of  Helen  f  Why  did  I  give  her  up  ?  She 
would  have  loved  me.  I  would  have  understood  her.  I 
was  worthy  of  her!'  To  the  passion  of  the  secret  lover 
was  added  the  pathetic  yearning  of  a  father's  protec- 
tive tenderness  towards  the  little  girl  whose  innocent 
lips  had  kissed  him  so  often,  whose  arms  had  clung 
round  his  neck,  who  in  her  ripe  womanhood  still 
turned  to  him  for  help  with  the  old  child-like  con- 
fidence. He  folded  his  arms,  clutching  his  hands 
upon  them  with  iron  tension, 

"Kill  her?"  he  echoed,  after  a  moment's  pause. 
"  Very  likely.  But  there  are  other  things  to  consider 
than  mere  life.     That  is  the  right  course." 

"I  cannot,  I  cannot!"  cried  Cluny,  piteously. 
For  a  second  he  had  tried  to  face  the  prospect,  and 
even  in  thought  had  quailed  hopelessly  before  it. 
"  She  trusts  me,  Favereau :  think  of  her  trusting 
eyes!  She  believes  in  me,  how  could  I  tell  her? 
She  could  not  understand.  Oh,  she 's  not  one  of 
those  women  who  could  understand !  She  never 
knew  evil  in  her  life,     Favereau,  I  cannot." 

Favereau's  lean  face  remained  impassive,  but  there 
was  a  slight  relaxation  of  the  tense  muscles, 

"  I  never  thought  you  could,"  he  answered,  with 
cold  contempt.     In  his  heart  he  had  dreaded  with  a 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 


99 


veritable  terror  lest  his  own  Spartan  advice  should  be 
accepted  ;  lest  his  beloved  should  be  struck  with  such 
a  death  blow.  He  breathed  a  quick  sigh  of  relief. 
"Well,"  —  he  changed  his  attitude,  uncrossed  his  legs, 
and  laid  his  hands  upon  his  knees  —  "there's  the 
other  way  —  the  devil's  way." 

"It  is  the  devil's  work,"  cried  Cluny,  savagely; 
"  't  is  fit  he  should  show  the  way." 

"  So  be  it !  "  said  the  other.  "  Sit  down,  Edward, 
and  listen  quietly.  There  is  nothing  for  you,  then,  but 
to  brazen  the  matter  out.  If  Helen  .does  not  know 
to-night,  from  your  own  lips,  she  must  never  know. 
Everything  —  everything,  mind  you  —  must  be  sacri- 
ficed to  that  end." 

The  Duke,  who  had  been  eagerly  listening,  hoping 
against  hope  for  some  solution,  relapsed  into  full 
despair. 

"But,  my  God  !"  said  he,  "the  girl?  She  cannot 
but  recognise  me." 

"  She  shall  not  recognise  you,"  said  Favereau, 
looking  at  him  with  icy  determination. 

"  But,  ah !  do  not  mock  me ;  for  heaven's  sake, 
explain." 

"  You  were  not  wont  to  be  so  dull  of  wit,"  said 
Favereau,  impatiently.  "This  creature,  this  girl,  this 
child,  has  met  a  certain  Monsieur  Le  Chevalier.  She 
has  never  laid  eyes  on  the  Duke  of  Cluny.  Do  you 
understand  now?" 

Cluny  gave  a  sharp  cry  of  joyful  apprehension, 
followed,  however,  by  what  was  almost  a  shudder  of 
repugnance. 


loo      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

*'  What  an  infamous  part  to  play ! "  he  murmured, 
and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

Favereau,  with  the  first  show  of  anger  he  had 
allowed  to  escape  him  during  the  interview,  struck 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Come,  Edward,"  he  exclaimed,  "this  will  not  do. 
You  dare  not  play  the  weakling  now,  after  playing 
the  —  well,  the  fool.  God,  man,  you  must  act !  You 
must  deceive,  you  must  lie.  Ah,  you  had  not  so 
many  scruples  of  conscience  about  lying  when  it  was 
merely  a  question  of  your  pleasure,  Monsieur  Le 
Chevalier !  Lie  now,  Duke  of  Cluny,  for  your  wife's 
sake.     Lie  your  hardest.     Lie  like  a  man !  " 

Cluny  groaned  aloud. 

"  Oh,"  pursued  Favereau,  stamping  his  foot,  "you 
have  the  curse  of  your  race  upon  you.  Foolhardy  to 
madness  in  the  courting  of  useless  danger,  weaker 
than  water  when  the  time  has  come  for  decision. 
Forget  —  forget  you  are  a  Stuart.  Be  a  scoundrel, 
since  now  you  must,  but  be  a  man !  " 

The  other  raised  his  face,  and  looked  up  in  an 
agony.     "  I  would  rather  die,  and  have  done  with  it." 

"  Of  course  you  would,"  cried  Favereau,  with  pas- 
sionate scorn.  "  I  expected  no  less  than  that.  A 
ball  through  the  head :  infallible  remedy  for  the 
coward,  for  the  base.  But  you  must  live,  Edward, 
live  and  take  your  punishment  —  for  Helen's  sake." 

Cluny  rose  stiffly.  "  You  have  said  enough,"  he 
replied,  livid,  but  suddenly  composed.  "  I  am  quite 
ready.  —  But  what  if  the  girl  begins  by  making  a  scene 
before  Helen?     Have  you  thought  of  that?" 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       loi 

"  Have  I  thought  of  that !  "  The  Minister  nearly 
laughed.  "  You  must  meet  her  first  alone,  of  course. 
Leave  it  to  me,  I  will  contrive  it." 

"  And  then,"  said  Cluny,  "  the  danger  will  be  but 
beginning.  Oh,  you  do  not  know  what  a  being  you 
have  to  deal  with  !  " 

"I  do  not  know  her,"  said  Favereau,  relentlessly; 
"  but  she  shall  be  made  to  see  that  here  she  must 
hold  her  tongue  upon  her  past.  And  then  we  must 
get  her  out  of  the  house  at  the  first  opportunity. 
Soon.  To-morrow,  if  possible.  Oh,  that  ought  to 
be  easy  enough  :  your  wish  is  law  here.  And  Helen 
—  God  bless  her !  —  is  not  hard  to  deceive.  At  any 
rate  you  know  how  to  do  it." 

Again  Cluny  let  the  sneer  pass,  with  the  callousness 
of  his  overwhelming  despair. 

"You  can  feign  jealousy,"  pursued  Favereau, 
"  boredom,  antipathy." 

"  Antipathy ! "  echoed  the  Duke,  with  what  was 
almost  a  sob.  "  I  had  rather  be  in  hell  than  under 
the  same  roof  with  her  and  Helen." 


CHAPTER   XI 

FAVEREAU  went  to  the  heavy  door  that  gave 
upon  the  hall  and  set  it  ajar.  With  a  faint 
astonishment  in  his  weary  eyes  the  Duke  looked 
after  him. 

"  Helen  is  coming,"  said  the  older  man  simply. 
And,  indeed,  as  he  spoke,  the  note  of  Helen's  voice 
was  heard  outside. 

But  an  hour  ago  on  the  terrace  this  sensation 
of  his  wife's  approach  had  brought  the  husband 
a  sense  of  inexpressible  comfort.  Now  his  heart 
almost  stopped  with  the  apprehension  of  it. 

The  room  was  too  dully  lit  for  Favereau  to  see 
his  friend's  face,  but  he  seemed  to  divine  the  terror 
which  hesitated  on  the  point  of  flight. 

"  Tranquillise  yourself,"  he  said,  closing  the  door 
for  a  second  to  speak  into  the  room.  "  Helen  is 
alone ;  't  is  early  yet." 

He  now  threw  the  door  open.  Helen  was  stand- 
ing in  the  hall  talking  to  Blanchette.  Brilliant  light 
glinted  on  her  soft  brown  hair,  on  the  fair  neck,  on 
the  priceless  pearls,  which  Cluny  vowed  were  the  only 
jewels  worthy  to  lie  on  that  satin  skin.  Blanchette's 
deep-toned  visage  shone  with  a  glow  which  seemed 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD  103 

to  emanate  as  much  from  the  content  within  as  from 
the  illumination  without. 

Helen  interrupted  her  conversation  for  a  moment 
to  smile  at  the  two  men,  then  she  proceeded,  enforc- 
ing her  words  with  gentle  gesture  of  her  finger. 

"And  then,  Blanchette,  when  you  have  made  her 
take  the  cup  of  broth,  you  must  hurry  back  —  back 
to  Mademoiselle,  I  mean  —  and  finish  dressing  her, 
just  as  you  used  to  dress  me,  you  know,  when  I  was 
a  girl.  And  then,  Blanchette,  you  must  bring  her 
down  yourself,  for  she  is  shy,  poor  little  thing. 
Bring  her  to  me  here,  in  the  library." 

She  patted  the  mulatto's  arm ;  then  swept  into 
the  room,  passed  Favereau  swiftly,  with  just  a  smiling 
glance  as  he  closed  the  door  behind  her,  went 
straight  to  the  motionless  figure  of  her  husband  and 
laid  both  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders. 

**  Ah,  truant,"  said  she,  "  how  I  have  missed  you  !  " 
All  the  harmony  of  her  love  and  happiness  filled 
her  voice  with  music. 

Cluny,  with  an  effort,  opened  his  lips  to  answer, 
but  she  placed  her  finger  upon  them. 

"  Hush,"  she  cried ;  "  no  excuses,  sir."  Then, 
laying  her  head  against  his  neck,  she  went  on,  with 
a  deeper  note  of  tenderness,  "  Cluny,  my  beloved, 
I  wanted  to  thank  you." 

Favereau  made  an  unobtrusive  movement  as  if 
intent  on  a  discreet  exit,  but  she  arrested  him. 

"  Stay,  Favereau,"  said  she,  merely  turning  her 
head  to  look  at  him,  "  stay  and  hear  what  a  happy 
woman  you  made  of  me." 


I04       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Favereau  stood,  as  ordered,  with  his  hand  still  on 
the  door  handle.  Even  with  his  absolute  self-control 
he  could  not  conjure  up  a  smile,  much  less  a  gay- 
word  in  answer;  and  he  was  thankful  for  the  shadows 
that  made  this  unresponsiveness  pass  unnoticed. 
With  his  free  hand  he  made  a  sign  at  which  Helen 
laughed,  interpreting  good-humoured  remonstrance. 
"  Oh,  you  lovers  !  "  she  read  in  his  gesture.  Cluny, 
to  whom  it  was  addressed,  read  more  truly,  "  I  am 
at  my  post.  Have  courage."  And  he  drew  a  deep 
breath. 

"  Cluny,"  Helen  went  on,  "  you  never  will  allow 
me  to  thank  you  for  all  your  goodness  to  me.  But 
I  must,  I  must  to-day,  for  my  heart  is  overflowing. 
Since  that  child  has  crossed  our  threshold  I  feel  as  if 
the  one  thing  wanting  to  my  happiness  had  come  to 
complete  it.  Oh,  my  dear  husband,  you  have  never 
once  let  me  guess  how  you  must  feel  the  emptiness 
of  our  home,  lest  I  should  take  it  as  a  reproach  to 
myself — I  who  have  given  you  no  children!  And 
now,  because  my  heart  yearned  to  this  mother- 
less girl,  you  bid  me  take  her  to  it,  and  never 
think  of  grudging  me  the  only  joy  of  motherhood 
I  can  hope  to  taste.  God  will  reward  you.  God 
will  reward  you,  not  only  for  the  good  deed  to  the 
poor  orphan,  but  for  your  goodness  to  your  happy 
wife !  " 

There  was  a  pause.  Her  head  sank  lower  on  his 
breast.     Neither  man  spoke  or  moved. 

"  Oh,  how  hard  your  heart  is  beating,  Cluny !  " 

The  Duchess  raised  herself  to  peer  into  his  face. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       105 

He  was  well  outside  the  circle  of  the  lamplight,  and 
it  was  evident  she  could  see  nothing  unusual  in  his 
expression. 

"  Well,"  she  went  on,  full  of  the  gentle  egoism  of 
her  new  charity,  "  I  have  told  Gioja  that  this  is  now 
her  home  till  she  finds  a  better  one ;  that  she  is  never 
to  feel  desolate  again,  never  to  know  what  it  is  to  miss 
a  mother's  care."  She  emphasised  each  "never"  by 
a  soft  beat  of  her  hands  against  her  husband's  breast. 
It  was  to  him  as  if  those  tender  hands  were  irrevo- 
cably riveting  the  chains  of  his  undoing.  "  I  have 
told  her  that  I  am  her  godmother.  I  cannot  think  I 
have  done  wrong  in  this,  for  I  feel  that  she  is  indeed 
sent  by  God  to  be  my  child.  Ah,  it  was  touching ! 
I  wish  you  could  both  have  seen  her  face  when  I 
brought  her  into  her  pretty  pink  room,  and  showed 
her  all  the  things  I  had  prepared  for  her."  She  dis- 
engaged herself  from  her  husband's  encircling  arms 
and  stood  smiling  at  her  own  recollections,  gazing  at 
the  blazing  logs.  The  firelight  played  on  her  face, 
a  sight  more  heartrending  in  its  placidity  just  then  to 
the  two  who  watched  her  than  if  it  had  been  con- 
vulsed with  tears.  "  I  have  been  inspired,  I  think, 
for  Blanchette  vows  that,  with  the  help  of  a  few 
stitches,  Gioja  will  be  able  to  wear  to-night  one  of 
the  gowns  I  have  had  made  for  her.  It  is  just  suited 
to  her  —  fresh,  girlish,  spotless.  Favereau,  don't 
you  think  she  has  a  dear  pretty  face?" 

Cluny  suddenly  caught  his  wife  to  his  breast. 
Had  it  been  her  dead  body  that  he  was  clasping  to 
him  instead  of  this  happy,  loving,  living,  responsive 


io6       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

frame,  there  could  not  have  been  a  purer  agony  in 
his  passion. 

**  Cluny  !  "  she  cried,  rebukingly,  "  Cluny  !  "  But 
it  was  impossible  to  keep  from  her  voice  a  note  of 
exultant  pride.  Blushing  and  smiling,  she  disengaged 
herself,  and  flung  a  shy  glance  over  her  shoulder 
towards  Favereau.  "  You  must  forgive  a  foolish 
couple,"  she  said. 

Favereau  swallowed  a  lump  in  his  throat.  In  his 
effort  to  speak  naturally  his  voice  was  perhaps  a  trifle 
harder  than  usual. 

"  I  don't  want  to  throw  cold  water  on  your  enthu- 
siasm, my  dear,"  said  he,  "  but  I  do  think  a  couple 
that  adopts  a  grown-up  infant  very  foolish  indeed. 
I  hope  that  the  young  lady  with  the  curious  name 
may  turn  out  as  desirable  an  inmate  of  your  house 
as  you  fondly  hope.  But  if  Cluny  should  find  her 
rather  in  the  way,  after  all,  in  spite  of  his  good 
nature " 

He  paused  upon  the  doubt.  Helen's  face  fell,  as 
openly  as  a  child's. 

*•  Oh,  Favereau  !  " 

"Don't  be  afraid,  Helen,"  said  Cluny,  hoarsely. 
"I  shall  never  do  anything — wilfully — to  bring 
that  shadow  into  your  eyes." 

Favereau  suddenly  bent  his  ear,  then  he  opened 
the  door.  Blanchette's  voice,  in  its  high  sing-song, 
floated  in : 

"  Mind  the  steps,  Mamzell,  dey  uncommon  slippy !  " 

Cluny  started,  and  flung  a  desperate  look  at  his 
friend.     The  latter,   however,    apparently   quite   im- 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       107 

perturbable,  stepped  out  of  the  library  into  the  hall 
and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"  Ah,  there  comes  the  little  one !  "  cried  Helen, 
and  moved  swiftly  across  the  room  to  receive  the  new 
object  of  her  delight. 

She  found  the  handle  held  without;  and  as  in 
amazement  she  exclaimed  and  turned  again  to  her 
husband,  Favereau  quietly  re-entered,  closed  the  door 
behind  him  and  put  his  back  against  it. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Helen. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  Favereau,  smiling  quite  airily. 
"  I  won't  have  you  disturbed  just  before  dinner, 
that 's  all." 

Cluny  turned  sharply  away  from  his  petrified 
attitude  of  watching,  and,  leaning  his  elbow  on  the 
mantle-shelf,  supported  his  averted  head  upon  his 
hand. 

"But  what  is  it?"  repeated  Helen. 

"  Only,  my  dear  St.  Elizabeth,  some  silly  servants' 
talk  about  the  young  woman  whom  you  took  into 
your  house  to-day  being  —  well,  rather  bad." 

"  Bad !  "  echoed  Helen,  in  her  eager  way.  She 
stretched  her  hand  to  push  his  aside  from  the  door 
handle. 

•'  Nonsense,"  said  Favereau,  holding  on  with 
determined  grip.  "  I  will  not  have  you  go  to  her 
now.  She  is  well  looked  after;  I  know  you  have 
seen  to  that.     What  further  good  could  you  do?  " 

"What  good?"  cried  the  Duchess,  indignantly. 
"  Help  her  to  live,  or  help  her  to  die  !  " 

Again  she  laid  her  hand  ypon  his,  found  herself 


io8       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

impotent  against  his  strength.  With  a  flash  of  her 
eyes  she  turned  swiftly  and  left  the  room  by  the 
opposite  door,  all  thought  for  the  moment  obliterated 
but  the  single  one  that  her  charity  was  needed. 

Favereau  released  the  door  handle,  drew  a  deep 
breath  and  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  brow. 


CHAPTER   XII 

DERE,  Mamzell !  "  said  Blanchette  and  patted" 
the  girl's  sash. 

Upon  the  threshold  she  had  delayed  the 
triumphant  entry  to  retie  the  silken  folds.  And  very 
proud  she  was  of  the  effect  of  all  this  dainty  lace  and 
muslin. 

Blanchette,  with  the  inherited  subserviency  of 
generations,  would  no  more  have  dreamed  of  forming 
an  individual  opinion  where  a  decision  of  her  beloved 
mistress  was  in  question  than  she  would  have  thought 
of  interfering  with  a  law  of  nature.  She  had  therefore 
adopted  the  new-comer  with  a  heartiness  all  the  more 
enthusiastic  perhaps  that  her  fellow  servants  ("  dat 
rubbish !  ")  unanimously  condemned  the  innovation. 

With  the  familiarity  of  the  old  retainer  she  nowplaced 
her  broad  dark  hand  in  the  centre  of  the  girl's  slender 
waist,  and  propelled  her  into  the  room;  then  looked, 
round,  one  triumphant  grin,  for  her  mistress.  The 
subsequent  expression  of  disappointment  upon  her 
dusky  visage  was  almost  burlesque. 

"  Missie  said  I  should  find  her  here,  Massa  Fave- 
reau." 

"  Unfortunately,"  answered  Favereau  —  the  man 
had   seemingly  nerves   of  iron,  and   to   Cluny,  who 


no      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

would  have  waited  for  the  hour  of  his  execution  with 
a  lighter  heart,  the  sound  of  the  kind,  bantering, 
every-day  tone  was  almost  divine  in  its  encourage- 
ment—  "unfortunately,  my  good  Blanchette,  I  was 
imprudent  enough  to  repeat  to  the  Duchess  just  now 
some  little  phrase  I  heard  you  let  fall  as  you  came 
down  about  the  woman,  —  Rose,  I  think  you  called 
her.     And  the  Duchess  has  flown  to  her." 

The  negress  clucked  her  tongue  noisily.  "  If  dat 
ain't  Missie  all  over !    And  Mamzell  such  a  pictur' !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Favereau,  "  the  Duke  is  here,  you 
know.  He  and  I  meanwhile  can  admire  the  picture, 
can't  we?  Go  and  help  your  mistress."  He  clapped 
her  on  her  fat  shoulder  as,  grinning  again,  she  dropped 
her  dip. 

"  Come  in,  Mademoiselle,"  said  he ;  and  once  more 
resuming  his  functions  at  the  door,  he  closed  it  upon 
the  outer  world.  "  Dear  me,  how  dark  it  is  1  I 
do  not  think  you  have  yet  been  introduced  to  the 
Duke." 

He  walked  over  to  the  writing-table  and  quietly 
lifted  the  green  shade  from  the  lamp. 

The  little  figure  near  the  door  paused,  hesitating. 
Slender  arms  falling  loosely,  bare  to  the  elbow ;  small 
hands  just  clasped  by  the  finger-tips ;  small  head  bent 
on  a  young  slight  neck;  curls,  of  the  texture  and 
colour  as  a  rule  only  seen  on  very  young  children, 
glimmering  in  the  light — for  the  rest,  all  snowy, 
diaphanous  white,  falling  around  the  shapely  slender 
outline. 

As  Favereau  turned  to  look  at  her  the  whole  affair 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       iii 

seemed  to  him  a  monstrous  nightmare.  For  a  second 
the  impulse  to  call  to  his  friend :  "  Wake  up,  man,  and 
look;  we  have  been  dreaming!"  was  so  strong  upon 
him  that  it  drove  him  to  a  silence  of  hesitation  — 
silence  during  which  the  ancient  clock  ticked  out  a 
quarter  of  a  minute  of  suspense  such  as  it  surely 
had  never  measured  for  human  being  before  during 
the  long  years  of  its  mechanical  existence. 

It  has  already  been  said,  however,  that  Favereau 
was  not  of  those  that  hesitate. 

"  Cluny!"  he  called. 

The  Duke  heard  the  warning  in  his  voice.  Good 
blood  —  and,  after  all,  his  was  good  blood  —  cannot 
fail,  says  the  French  proverb.  The  royal  blood 
within  him  mustered  now  in  Cluny's  veins  with  a  new 
desperate  courage  to  help  him  —  for  Helen's  sake  — 
"  to  lie  like  a  man  !  "  He  was  ducal,  urbane,  courte- 
ous, dignified,  absolutely  master  of  the  situation,  as 
he  advanced  to  take  his  guest's  hand  and  bid  her 
welcome  to  his  house. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  he,  "  I  am  charmed  to  make 
your  acquaintance." 

At  his  first  accent  the  sombre  eyes  flashed  wide  in 
her  small  face.  For  a  second  she  stared  as  if  unable 
to  credit  the  evidence  of  her  senses.  The  next  mo- 
ment an  extraordinary  colour,  an  extraordinary  light 
overspread  her  countenance.  It  was  as  if  flower  of 
snow  had  suddenly  turned  to  flower  of  summer  flame. 
She  bounded  forward,  and  seized  the  outstretched 
hand  in  both  of  hers,  with  ringing  cry: 

"  Monsieur  Le  Chevalier !   .  .  .    " 


112       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Favereau,  watching  (to  recur  to  the  old  simile) 
much  as  the  physician  by  the  bedside  watches  the 
approach  of  the  crisis,  now  perceived  with  gathering 
dismay  a  new  and  possibly  fatal  complication  : 

She  loved  him !  This  creature,  the  wanton  child, 
the  living  problem  that  had  startled  the  seasoned  man 
of  the  world  with  vistas  of  unknown  depravity  —  she 
loved  him  ! 

A  fresh  sweat  of  horror  broke  upon  the  Minister's 
forehead.  With  mere  perversity  he  had  felt  ready, 
brutally  ready,  to  deal.  But  all  his  manhood  recoiled 
at  the  thought  of  throwing  the  first  stone  at  the  little 
sinner  who  had  sinned  through  love.  He  withdrew 
into  the  shadow. 

The  Duke,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  to  have 
become  hardened  by  sheer  stress  of  circumstances, 
both  morally  and  physically,  to  a  white,  marble 
callousness.  His  acting  was  almost  too  perfect. 
More  surprise,  not  to  say  some  show  of  discom- 
posure, might  better  have  met  the  extraordinary 
situation.  The  coolness,  however,  with  which  he 
disengaged  his  hand,  the  mocking  bow,  and  the 
faint  elevation  of  eyebrows  which  accentuated  his 
reply,  were  convincing  enough  for  the  moment. 

"The  Duke  of  Cluny,  at  your  service,"  said  he, 
urbanely  correcting  an  absurd  error. 

She  fell  back  a  step ;  her  colour  faded.  A  sort  of 
mask  seemed  to  fall  upon  the  eager  face ;  the  light 
in  the  eyes  went  out. 

"  The  Duke  of  Cluny !  "  she  repeated,  in  a  bewil- 
dered tone;    and  on  the  instant  she  was  again  the 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      113 

artless  maiden.  A  short  silence  ensued ;  the  some- 
thing abnormal  in  the  very  air,  the  tension  between 
the  two  men  so  painfully  obvious  to  themselves,  could 
not  but  become  perceptible  to  her.  Once  more  the 
scorching  flame  of  her  gaze  leaped  up  to  the  Duke's 
face;  and  then,  with  a  scream:  "No!"  she  cried, 
"  Monsieur  Le  Chevalier  !  " 

"  You  seem  to  be  misled  by  some  curious  resem- 
blance," said  the  Duke,  in  his  ice-cold  voice ;  "  but 
pray  allow  me  to  assure  you  that  I  am  the  Duke  of 
Cluny." 

The  girl  stood  as  if  arrested  on  a  spring,  her 
hands  clenched  together,  her  gaze  searing  his  face 
and  figure.  Again  there  seemed  to  come  for  a 
second  a  doubt  within  her,  a  transient  conflict;  but 
only  for  a  second.     Her  countenance  grew  distorted. 

"  You  may  be  the  Duke  of  Cluny,"  she  said,  in  a 

hoarse  whisper,  "  but  you  are "     She  broke  off, 

and  the  look,  the  very  pause,  were  a  more  terrible 
indictment  than  speech. 

Cluny  was  smiling.  "There  is  evidently  some 
mystery  here,"  said  he.  "You  are  agitated.  Made- 
moiselle." His  composure  was  ghastly.  "  Come,  sit 
down,  and  tell  me  all  about  it.  'T  is  a  case  of  mis- 
taken identity,  evidently.  Most  curious !  I  have 
heard  of  such  complete  resemblances :  they  lead 
sometimes  to  droll  misunderstandings,  it  is  said.  So 
I  am  very  like  a  friend  of  yours?" 

He  pushed  a  chair  towards  her,  and,  leaning  over 
the  back  of  it,  looked  at  her,  still  smiling.  She 
remained  standing,  rigid. 


114       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"  Very  like,"  she  answered  slowly,  in  her  strangled 
whisper. 

"Ah !  "  commented  he  —  there  was  nothing  but  his 
pallor  to  betray  that  he  was  fighting  a  duel  to  the 
death  —  "some  old  friend  of  yours,  I  suppose? 
Some  dear  friend?" 

"  Dear !  "  she  echoed.  Her  young  voice  broke. 
"Yes,  my  God!" 

The  pause  came  again.  She  stood  clenching  and 
unclenching  her  hands,  her  frame  torn  with  a  passion 
such  as  happily  the  majority  of  women  never  know- 
A  kind  of  sob  broke  from  her,  and  the  Duke  felt  that 
if  he  were  to  emerge  victorious  he  must  allow  him- 
self no  more  such  breathing  spaces  or  his  courage  to 
strike  would  fail  him. 

"Will  you  not  sit  down?"  he  urged  benevolently. 
"Will  you  not  tell  me  v/hat  is  the  matter?  Is  it, 
perhaps,  some  little  affair  of  the  heart?  " 

She  gave  a  stifled  scream ;  it  would  have  been  hard 
to  say  whether  of  anguish  or  rage.  With  chin  craned 
forward,  lips  parted,  blazing  eyes,  the  veritable  image 
of  a  young  fury,  a  torrent  of  abuse  was  rising  in  her 
throat.  But  the  steady  inflexible  look  of  the  Duke, 
the  heavy  silence,  the  very  luxury  of  the  room, 
seemed  to  overawe  her  suddenly.  She  swayed,  fell 
into  the  chair  offered  to  her  and  rocked  herself  to 
and  fro,  holding  her  hands  to  her  lips  with  a  school- 
girl gesture  of  self-repression.  All  at  once  she  looked 
up  at  the  tall  figure  beside  her. 

"Oh,  you  —  you!"  she  began  below  her  breath; 
then  stopped. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      115 

The  Duke  laid  his  finger  gently  on  her  shoulder. 
"Do  not  forget,"  said  he,  "that  you  are  speaking  to 
the  Duke  of  Cluny." 

With  a  swift,  fehne  movement  she  caught  his  hand 
as  he  was  about  to  withdraw  it.  For  a  second  she 
held  it,  looked  at  it;  then,  kissing  it  fiercely  on 
the  palm,  flung  it  from  her  with  a  laugh  that  was 
struggling  with  sobs. 

"And  do  you  dare  say,"  she  cried,  rising,  "  that  I 
have  not  kissed  that  hand  before?  " 

Her  hysterical  laughter  fell  hideously  upon  the 
men's  ears.  Slipping  her  little  fingers  under  the 
folds  of  muslin  at  her  neck,  she  pulled  forward  a 
string  of  magnificent  pearls.  A  moment's  hesitation 
now,  the  Duke  felt,  would  be  fatal. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  he,  for  the  first  time  drop- 
ping his  cloak  of  light  courtesy  and  allowing  a  tone 
of  grave  warning  to  sound  in  voice  and  words, 
"  Mademoiselle,  had  you  not  better  control  yourself 
.  .  .  and  try  to  realise  the  situation  ?  " 

He  spoke  the  last  words  with  slow,  emphatic 
meaning. 

A  hush  fell  on  the  girl.  She  hstened  and  was 
silent,  as  if  revolving  the  hidden  purport  of  the 
phrase. 

It  seemed  to  Favereau  from  his  corner  that  upon 
her  face,  by  turns  mask-like  and  quivering  with 
expression,  he  could  now  read  every  phase  of  her 
undisciplined,  passionate  soul.  Before  even  she 
spoke  again,  by  the  tide  of  colour  on  her  cheek,  by 
the  light  of  those  eyes  which  Cluny  had  called  devil- 


ii6      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

haunted,  by  the  quiver  of  the  lips,  by  the  whole  yield- 
ing of  her  being  to  an  impulse  of  overpowering 
delight,  he  knew  what  hideous  significance  she  had 
thought  to  find  in  his  friend's  caution. 

*'  Stay  !  "  she  cried,  "  stay !  "  She  put  out  her 
hand,  and  it  trembled,  while  her  voice  quivered  with 
a  lark-like  note  of  joy.  "  Don't  speak  —  let  me 
think  !  This  sudden  change  in  my  Hfe,  this  adoption 
falling  upon  me  from  the  skies  without  explanation 
—  oh,  I  see  it  all !  I  see  now !  How  blind,  how 
stupid  I  have  been  !  Ah,  you  did  love  me  —  you  do 
love  me,  after  all !  What  does  the  rest,  what  does 
anything  else  matter !  " 

She  ran  to  him  and  seized  his  inertly  pendent 
hand  with  both  hers. 

In  the  horror  of  the  comprehension  of  her  thought, 
in  the  horror  of  the  touch  that  conveyed  such  a 
meaning,  the  Duke  recoiled  almost  with  violence. 
His  self-possession  failed  him  at  last.     He  groaned : 

"  Great  God  !  " 

Favereau  saw  that  the  time  had  come  for  his  inter- 
ference.    He  advanced. 

"  Forgive  my  interrupting,"  said  he,  placing  him- 
self between  the  two.  His  calm  authoritative  voice 
fell  like  a  stream  of  cool  water  upon  the  bubbling 
heat  of  their  passion.  Cluny  flung  him  a  quick  look 
of  grateful  relief.  The  girl  started  with  a  sinuous 
angry  movement,  and  turned  upon  the  intruder  like 
a  little  viper  disturbed.  She  had  forgotten  his  pres- 
ence in  her  all-absorbing  emotion.  Meeting  his  eye, 
however,  she  recoiled  with  something  like  fear. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       117 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  he,  "will  you  not  sit  down 
again?"  The  courteous  invitation  was  a  command. 
She  sat  down,  and  this  Minister  of  France,  who  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  had  set  his  hand  to  do  ignoble 
work,  felt  that  he  might  yet  be  master  of  the  evil 
situation.  "  Edward,"  he  went  on,  turning  quietly 
to  his  friend,  "  perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to  under- 
take the  task  of  making  this  young  lady  understand 
under  what  a  fantastic  delusion  she  is  labouring." 

Cluny  withdrew  to  his  old  post,  the  chimney-piece. 

Favereau  took  a  chair  beside  the  girl.  At  any 
moment,  he  knew,  Helen  might  break  in  upon  them. 
As  at  the  critical  point  of  a  battle,  he  felt  that  the 
decisive  blow  must  be  struck  without  sparing,  yet 
with  all  deliberation.  Indicating  the  Duke  by  a 
slight  gesture: 

"Look  well,  Mademoiselle,"  said  he,  gravely  yet 
not  unkindly  —  "  look  well.  Think,  and  recognise 
your  mistake.  There  is  the  Duke  of  Cluny,  a  gentle- 
man whom  not  only  you  have  never  met  before,  but 
one  whom  you  could  never  have  met  before  —  you 
quite  understand  me,  don't  you? — whom  you  could 
not,  by  any  possibility,  have  met  before.  That  he 
recalls  to  you  some  person  of  your  acquaintance  can 
have  nothing  to  do  with  him.  Now,  the  Duchess 
of  Cluny,  I  am  told,  has  chosen  you  as  the  particular 
object  of  her  benevolence.  She  has  received  you 
into  her  house,  she  has  promised  to  provide  for  you. 
The  Duchess  believes  you,  of  course,  to  be  an  inno- 
cent, a  well-brought-up  girl,  deserving  this  extra- 
ordinary favour." 


ii8       THE   SECRET    ORCHARD 

Gioja's  great  eyes,  dark  with  dilating  pupils,  fixed 
upon  the  speaker's  face,  became  filled  with  a  dawn- 
ing terror.  The  man  proceeded  incisively,  waxing 
strong  on  his  advantage : 

"The  Duke  of  Cluny  has  made  it  his  pride  never 
to  thwart  his  wife  in  her  vocation  of  charity.  He 
therefore  consented  to  your  introduction  into  the 
privacy  of  his  house  with  characteristic  generosity. 
But,"  said  Favereau,  with  a  deliberation  which  per- 
haps the  cold  indulgence  of  his  tone  rendered  all  the 
more  cruel,  "  the  Duchess  of  Cluny's  peace  of  mind 
is  the  first  object  of  the  Duke's  life.  He  makes  it  his 
duty  to  protect  her  at  any  cost  from  trouble  or  dis- 
appointment. No  person  would  be  allowed  to  re- 
main under  his  roof  a  single  day  who  showed  herself 
likely  to  bring  sorrow  or  annoyance  to  his  wife." 

The  girl  gasped.  "What  do  you  mean  me  to 
understand?"  she  asked,  with  dry  lips,  her  gaze  still 
riveted,  as  if  fascinated,  upon  the  bearded  impassive 
face. 

"That  the  young  lady,"  answered  Favereau, 
"  whom  the  Duchess  honours  with  her  protection 
must  show  herself,  both  as  regards  the  past  and  the 
present,  worthy  of  that  honour."  He  paused  to 
allow  the  words  to  sink  in.  Then  he  suddenly 
became  genial,  almost  paternal.  "  It  is  evident,"  he 
went  on,  "  that  your  mind,  my  child,  as  is  not 
unusual  with  young  people  of  your  age,  is  filled  with 
much  romantic  rubbish ;  and  that,  excited  no  doubt 
by  the  strange  circumstances  attending  your  unex- 
pected  good    fortune,   you  have  been  tempted,  on 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      119 

entering  this  new  life,  to  create  sensation  by  turning 
the  accident  of  a  chance  resemblance  into  a  page  of 
some  favourite  novel.  Forget  all  this  pernicious 
stuff."  He  dropped  his  playful  tone  for  one  of 
renewed  gravity.  "  Remember  only  that  your  future 
is  in  your  own  hands  —  to  make  or  to  mar." 

She  rose  stiffly  to  her  feet,  and  stretched  out  her 
arms  towards  the  Duke  with  the  single  word : 

"  Speak !  " 

It  was  a  helpless,  frightened,  childish  appeal. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  Cluny,  hoarsely,  "  Monsieur 
Favereau  has  spoken  for  me." 

A  little  while  she  stood,  looking  swiftly  from  one 
to  the  other ;  in  her  eyes  was  the  impotent  rage,  the 
agonising  terror  of  a  trapped  animal.  Then  she 
wrung  her  hands,  and  once  again  the  unnatural  look, 
the  woman's  look,  of  bitterness  and  suffering  and 
passion  convulsed  her  face. 

"You  are  brave,  gentlemen  ..."  she  said  at  last, 
almost  inaudibly.     "Two  men  against  a  girl!" 

"  Faugh  !  "  said  Favereau,  in  a  savage  whisper,  to 
Cluny,  as  he  brushed  by  him  to  replace  the  shade 
upon  the  lamp,  "  with  what  pitch  are  we  here 
defiled !  " 

Had  they  won?  They  could  not  know.  Those 
little  clenched  hands  still  held  the  fate  of  all  that 
made  life  beautiful  to  both  of  them. 

But  if  they  had  won,  in  truth  the  victory  was 
bitter. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THERE  came  a  prolonged  silence  over  the  three : 
a  heavy  silence,  in  awful  contrast  with  the 
inner  clamour  of  their  thoughts,  and  accen- 
tuated by  the  minor  sounds  within  the  room. 

A  small  flame  voice  sang  sweetly  and  cheerily 
among  the  logs  on  the  hearth.  The  solemn  clock 
ticked  on,  every  stroke  of  the  pendulum  falling  upon 
the  Duke's  heart  like  the  stroke  of  a  hammer  upon 
the  coffin  of  his  manly  honour.  The  quavering 
chime  struck  the  half-hour,  a  distant  bell  clanged. 
The  dressing  bell !  Helen  would  soon  be  with  them 
again ;  the  routine  of  life  go  on  as  usual.  His  very 
soul  turned  sick. 

Neither  of  the  men  looked  at  each  other.  There 
are  moments  when  each  knows  too  well  the  other's 
thoughts  to  dare  to  let  eyes  commune.  The  girl 
stood  with  bent  head,  a  sullen  lip  out-thrust,  plucking 
at  the  folds  of  her  sash. 

Thus  Helen  found  them. 

A  moment  she  stood,  looking  in  upon  them ;  and 
Favereau  alone  had  presence  of  mind  enough  to 
advance  and  smile.  Her  eyes  swiftly  sought  the 
little  white  figure* 


^  M 


"'now,  cluny,  what  do  you  think  of  my 

DAUGHTER?'" P^g^  121. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      121 

"  What !  —  Joy  !  "  she  cried  :  thus,  after  the  eternal 
mother-fashion  had  Helen  already  shortened  her  new 
daughter's  name.  Then  she  broke  into  a  merry 
laugh.  "  What  a  baby  !  Look  at  the  poor  child,  not 
daring  to  open  her  lips  between  these  two  great  men  !  " 
She  came  forward,  draperies  flowing,  motherly  arms 
outstretched.  Gathering  the  girl  to  her  she  looked, 
gently  mocking,  from  her  husband  to  Favereau. 

"  I  believe  —  really  one  would  say  —  she  has  fright- 
ened them  as  much  as  they  have  frightened  her. 
Have  you  spoken  to  my  husband,  little  Joy?  " 

"Yes,  Madame." 

Words  barely  breathed,  long  black  lashes  sweeping 
the  wan  cheeks. 

"It  was  very  terrible,  was  it  not?"  said  the 
Duchess,  with  the  tenderest  banter. 

"  Yes,  Madame." 

Helen  kissed  her.  "  There,  she  ought  not  to  have 
been  deserted.  Why,  she  is  trembling  all  over,  poor 
child ! "  The  Duchess  turned  upon  Favereau  in 
mock  indignation :  **  It  is  all  your  fault,  sir.  You 
picked  up  the  wrong  end  of  the  story,  you  old  busy- 
body. My  patient  is  very  weak,  yet  better,  I  think. 
But "  —  she  interrupted  herself  with  a  gay  change  of 
voice,  toying  the  while  with  the  girl's  fair  curls  — 
"  but  this  is,  too  sad  a  story  for  these  ears.  Time 
enough  for  them  to  learn  the  cruelty  of  the  world. 
Now,  Cluny,  what  do  you  think  of  my  daughter?  " 

The  man  was  forced  to  turn  and  look  at  them. 
The  wife,  standing  close  behind  the  girl,  both  hands 
upon  her   shoulders  and   overtopping  the  fair  head 


122       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

nearly  by  the  height  of  her  own,  had  placed  her  sweet, 
bright,  confident  face  above  the  small  white  mask. 
His  wife's  eyes,  the  truest  and  the  most  loving,  were 
looking  at  him  beside  the  unholy  flame  of  those  other 
eyes  —  the  devil's  eyes  ! 

His  glance  sought  Helen's  first;  then  met  that 
of  Gioja.  And  there  it  rested.  The  girl's  deep, 
inscrutable,  defiant  gaze  never  wavered  for  a  second. 
Cluny,  with  narrowing  lids,  with  contracting  pupils 
and  eyes  growing  steel-grey  like  a  sword  blade,  threw 
all  the  power  of  his  being  into  the  endeavour  to  gain 
the  mastery,  to  force  her  lids  to  drop.  In  this  voice- 
less struggle  the  colour  rose  to  his  cheeks.  At  last, 
with  a  bitter  smile,  he  recognised  that  he  was  more 
than  matched.  But  at  least  the  very  feeling  of  battle 
well  engaged  now  braced  his  nerve. 

"  It  is  a  little  difficult,"  he  said  steadily,  "  to  be 
called  upon  to  pronounce  so  soon  upon  a  stranger." 

As  he  spoke  he  felt  the  sudden  comfort  of  Fave- 
reau's  presence  at  his  side. 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped,"  said  the  Minister's  gently 
sarcastic  voice,  "  that  the  new  daughter  may  never 
bring  a  cloud  to  the  mother's  face." 

The  girl  shifted  her  glance  quickly  to  him;  but 
then  it  quailed  and  fell. 

The  entrance  of  the  servants  with  lights  and  the 
sound  of  the  oddly  matched  brothers'  voices  on  the 
stair  broke  up  the  fitful  colloquy  and  distracted 
Helen's  mind  from  a  sense  of  vague  disappointment 
and  intangible  strain. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      123 

"  My  dear  Cluny,"  she  cried  suddenly,  running  her 
eyes  over  his  grey  figure ;   "  not  dressed  yet !  " 

Cluny,  with  his  expressive  French  gesture,  glanced 
down  at  his  clothes,  and  moved  towards  the  door. 
Here  Favereau  followed  him  and  caught  him  by  the 
shoulders. 

"  So  far  we  are  safe,"  whispered  he,  as  he  sped  him 
with  what  seemed  to  the  onlookers  a  good-natured 
push. 

"  I  told  you  how  it  would  be,"  said  Cluny.  "  It  is 
hell." 

"  No,"  answered  the  other,  with  the  most  melan- 
choly cynicism ;  "  only  the  road  to  it." 


CHAPTER   XIV 

ANATOLE,  Marquis  de  Lormes,  Comte  de 
Paimpol  et  de  Sermonec,  chef  du  noni  et  des 
amies,  better  known  among  his  peers  and  inti- 
mates as  "  Totol "  (and  it  must  be  admitted  that  the 
more  familiar  appellation  suited  him  best)  —  the 
Marquis  "Totol"  —  preceded  his  tall  half-brother 
into  the  room,  shooting  his  cuffs  as  he  came. 

His  goggling  eyes  rolled,  and  as  they  caught 
sight  of  Gioja,  his  meagre  countenance  proclaimed 
disgust.  The  blue  eyes  of  the  sailor,  on  the  other 
hand,  kindled  as  they  rested  on  the  girl's  fair  head. 

Helen  was  at  that  moment  engaged  in  a  motherly 
scrutiny  of  her  new  daughter's  toilet. 

They  made  a  pretty  picture  with  the  flicker  of  the 
fire  upon  them  —  the  gracious  woman  at  the  zenith  of 
her  beauty,  and  the  girl  — 

"  Standing  with  reluctant  feet 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet. 
Womanhood  and  childhood  fleet." 

So  thought  the  sailor,  who  liked  old-fashioned 
poetry  and  cherished  those  old-fashioned  ideals 
which  are  still  kept  alive  more  faithfully,  perhaps, 
in  the  New  World  than  in  the  Old. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      125 

"Too  bad  of  Helen,"  said  the  present  representa- 
tive of  the  Lormes,  aside  to  Favereau,  "to  spring 
this  school-girl  upon  us.  For  me,"  said  the  little 
man,  and  shook  his  hoary  young  head,  "the  young 
girl,  the  French  young  person,  especially  when 
fresh  from  the  convent,  is  absolutely  nauseating. 
Ce  que  qa  in  'embite  !  Positivemcnt  ga  me  la  coupe  : 
The  English   miss,  d  la  bonne  heure  /     And  as  for 

the   American "      He   rapturously   kissed    his 

hand  in  the  air.     "  But,  oh,  the  young  demoiselle 
—  la,  la!" 

"I  can  understand,"  said  Favereau,  with  grim 
secret  humour,  "that  you  may  have  found  that  young 
lady  preposterously  unsophisticated.  We  were 
alone  with  her,  the  Duke  and  I,  just  now,  and  she 
made  us  pass  a  severe  quarter  of  an  hour." 

The  Marquis  pulled  his  india-rubber  face  into  a 
knowing  grimace.  The  next  moment  it  became 
illumined,  though  scarcely  beautified,  by  an  ecstatic 
smile.  For,  with  a  rattle  of  bangles,  a  jingle  of 
chains,  a  tap  and  a  shuffle  of  little  slippers,  and  a 
tremendous  general  frou-frou,  Madame  Rodriguez 
made  her  appearance  on  the  scene.  He  fixed  his 
single  glass  in  his  eye  with  some  difficulty  and  much 
gnawing  motion  of  the  jaw. 

"There  —  ah,  there's  famous  chic,  real  chlcn,  if 
you  like!  The  very  last  howling  pscJiutt,  in  short," 
he  exclaimed  rapturously  under  his  breath,  apprais- 
ing every  item  of  toilet,  figure,  and  impertinently 
pretty  face.     "  Crdne,  au  inoins,  celle-ld  —  eh  ">  " 

Meanwhile  Helen  had  been  conversing  in  a  soft 
undertone  to  her  new-found  cousin  from  over  seas. 


126      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"Yes,"  she  said,  after  scrutinising  his  frank  coun- 
tenance with  kindly  pleasure,  "  I  remember  you.  He 
once  came  to  Paris,  Joy,  to  visit  us  from  America, 
that  great  country  of  hiS' — and  of  mine,  though  I 
have  never  seen  it;  —  you  know,  even  on  the  map, 
how  far  away  it  looks!  He  was  a  little  boy  then, 
and  I  was  quite  a  little  girl.  But  he  made  a  vast 
impression  upon  me.  You  called  me  a  "cute  little 
thing, '  George,  and  said  that  was  a  '  cunning  '  sort  of 
dress  we  wore  at  the  Blue  Nuns.  And  though  I 
wondered,  I  felt  this  was  high  praise.  And  he  told 
me  such  wonderful  stories  of  Indians  and  prairies 
and  scalp-hunters  and  I  know  not  what,  and  he  pre- 
sented me  with  what  he  called  '  chew-gum.'  Don't 
you  remember,  George.''" 

Her  laugh  rang  out  —  the  most  heart-whole,  most 
musical  laugh  in  all  the  world. 

"Why,  certainly,"  said  the  American,  in  his  deep 
voice,  that  gave  one  somehow  the  impression  of  a 
great  reserve  of  strength  and  manliness,  "I  remem- 
ber you  very  well.  But  the  picture  of  the  little  girl 
with  her  hair  in  two  pigtails  don't  fit  in  somehow 
with  that  of  my  lady  Duchess  in  her  beautiful  home. 
I  have  seen  a  deal  of  your  modern  France  these  last 
few  weeks  in  the  World's  Show  yonder,  and,  if 
you  '11  excuse  me,  it  struck  me  as  just  a  bit  electro- 
plated. Therefore  I  feel  it  all  the  greater  privilege 
to  have  an  opportunity  of  making  acquaintance  with 
the  real  sterling  thing.  That 's  what  your  home  is: 
hall-marked,  Helen,  and  no  mistake." 

His   blue   eyes   wandered  from  the  carved  stone 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 


127 


chimney-piece,  with  its  faded  yet  warmly  tinted 
armorials,  to  the  groups  of  tattered  colours  on  the 
walls  between  the  great  book-cases  —  glorious  rags 
that  had  seen  such  days  and  weathered  such  storms 
that  barely  a  gleam  of  blue  or  red  here  and  there 
betrayed  which  had  been  Highland  fanion,  which 
blue  cross  of  French  Stuart  regiment. 

What    is   there    in   the  sight  of  old  colours  that 
moves  the  heart  so  strangely  ?     Why  are  they  more 
eloquent  of  pathos,  of  patriotism,  of  the  stress  and 
grandeur  of  conflict  than  even  the  dead  hero's  sword 
or  the  ruined   stronghold?     The   republican's   eyes 
kindled  as  they  fell  on  these  relics.     From  thence 
they  travelled  to  the  celebrated  royal  portrait,   en- 
throned between  the  yellowing  silk  folds  and  broid- 
ered   fieurs-de-lys   of   a   French  standard  (this  had 
evidently  faced   no   crueller  weapon   than  a  lady's 
needle)  and  a  tartan  plaid  so  indescribably  faded  that 
it   seemed  to   have  borrowed  the  tints  of  the  wild 
moorland  and  dying  heather  over  which  it  had  once 
brawly   fluttered.       There   the   face  of   the   second 
James,   in  his   beautiful   princely   boyhood,   looked 
forth  from  under  haughty  drooping  lids. 

"By  Jingo,"  said  the  sailor,  "you  bet  that  little 
fellow  knew  he  was  a  Duke  anyhow!  Ancestor, 
Helen.''  But  I  need  not  ask.  I  don't  set  up  for 
being  art-wise,  but  your  husband's  very  eyes  seem 
fixed  on  one  from  that  canvas.  My,  but  it  must  be 
a  great  work!" 

"That  is  our  celebrated  Vandyck,"   said   Helen, 


128      THE   SECRET    ORCHARD 

well  pleased;  "it  is  indeed  an  ancestor  of  Cluny's: 
James  the  Second,  when  he  was  Duke  of  York." 

"The  sort  of  fellow  that  makes  one  seem  kind  of 
small,  somehow,"  said  Lieutenant  Dodd,  with  his 
good-humoured  laugh.  Then,  with  a  start,  he  dis- 
covered the  white  figure  of  Gioja  at  his  elbow.  She 
too  was  gazing  up  at  the  picture  with  lips  a  little 
parted.  His  face  softened  as  he  looked  down  at  her. 
"  A  lovely  boy,  is  he  not  ?  "  he  said.  And  in  address- 
ing her  his  voice  took  an  extraordinarily  gentle 
note. 

She  flashed  her  dark  eyes  at  him  with  a  flutter  of 
the  eyelids  which  covered  their  secret  fire  and  gave 
a  sort  of  virginal  timidity  to  the  glance  quite  in 
keeping  with  her  present  attitude. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  she,  in  her  pretty  foreign  English. 

Favereau,  with  his  back  to  the  fire  and  his  hands 
behind  him,  seemingly  indifferent,  closely  watched 
the  moving  group. 

"This  American,  now  ..."  he  was  thinking. 
"A  new  complication.  Stay  —  a  solution,  per- 
chance, to  the  problem  ! " 

The  gladness  of  the  thought  struck  him  promptly 
with  a  sting  of  shame.  With  what  fearful  ease  does 
poor  humanity  glide  upon  the  downward  slope! 
Pure  honour  had  always  been  such  an  integral  part 
of  this  man's  soul  that  hitherto  he  had  no  more  con- 
templated the  possibility  of  losing  it  than  of  losing 
his  identity.  And  now  he  was  planning  an  honest 
fellow's  undoing! 

How  could  Edward   have  hoped  to  keep  up  his 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      129 

systematic  deviation  into  secret  orchards,  and  there- 
after resume  unscathed  his  honoured  way  on  the 
straight  path  of  life,  when  his  own  one  step  from  the 
high  table-land  of  righteousness  had  already  sent 
him  —  him,  Favereau  —  spinning  towards  God  knows 
what  depths !  Ah,  that  shame  should  dog  a  thought 
of  his ! 

He  looked  sombrely  at  the  sailor's  face  —  a  face 
in  which  the  story  of  an  elementally  virile  soul  was 
written  as  upon  an  open  book. 

Mr.  Dodd's  creed  was  simple  enough  to  read: 
love  of  his  country,  truth  to  himself,  respect  for 
women,  and  glory  in  his  profession.  He  would  live, 
and  love,  and  work,  and  fight,  and  die  without  a 
questioning  thought. 

But  Favereau  was  not  of  those  who  disguise  to 
themselves  the  responsibility  of  their  own  deeds. 
Darkly  he  knew,  as  he  watched,  that  come  what 
might,  he  would  coldly  let  the  unsuspecting  sailor 
drift  to  his  doom ;  that  he  would  not  lift  a  finger  to 
save  him,  could  he  thereby  secure  one  chance  of 
saving  Helen  from  the  awakening  that  menaced  her. 

Absorbed  in  these  moods,  he  was  startled  by  a 
fierce  feminine  whisper  in  his  ear;  by  the  clutch  of 
a  small  hand  upon  his  sleeve. 

In  the  desire  to  share  her  immediate  emotion  with 
a  mind  more  capable  of  intelligent  response  than 
that  dwelling  in  the  dwindled  skull  of  the  Marquis 
"Totol,"  Nessie  had  figuratively  and  literally  seized 
upon  her  old  friend. 

"Well,  and  what  is  your  impression,  Minister,  of 
9 


ijo      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

the  new  importation?"  she  murmured,  vindictively 
jerking  her  head  in  the  direction  of  Gioja.  "Our 
fine  sailor-hero  seems  to  approve  of  it,  anyhow.  I 
don't  believe  he  has  eyes  to  see  anything  else." 
She  shook  out  her  rosy  draperies  with  a  deep  sense 
of  waste,  of  unappreciated  merit.  "  As  for  Helen, 
she's  floating  in  a  kind  of  holy  cloud  of  joy  —  Joy!" 
She  sniffed  derisively.  "Isn't  it  a  dear  little  inno- 
cent? Does  n't  she  look  as  if  butter  wouldn't  melt 
in  her  mouth,  eh?  Isn't  it  a  sweet  little  babe-in- 
the-wood,  that  has  never  seen  anything  but  robins 
and  leaves,  eh?  My!"  There  was  stiletto  sharp- 
ness in  each  "eh,"  culminating  in  the  shrillness  of 
the  last  ejaculation.  It  was  like  finally  turning  the 
blade  in  the  wound.  "  I  do  agree  with  Aunt  Harriet 
—  old  cat !  —  for  once  in  my  life  (though  I  would  n't 
give  her  the  satisfaction  of  telling  her  so  for 
worlds),  but  I  do  agree  that  this  is  quite  the  worst 
of  Helen's  follies.  Of  course,  you  men  are  always 
taken  with  a  pretty  face;  but  I  reckon  you  will  side 
with  me.  Minister,  that,  for  mere  simpleness,  the 
idea  of  getting  the  Duke  to  adopt  an  infant  of  that 
size  and  description,  well  —  it's  beyond  words!  If 
that  girl,"  she  pursued,  after  a  sufficiently  eloquent 
pause,  "does  not  make  us  all  sit  up  before  the  week 
is  out,  my  name  ain't  Nessie  Rodriguez." 

"Well,  of  course,"  answered  Favereau,  smoothly, 
with  an  inner  dreary  appreciation  of  his  own  irony, 
"you  can  only  expect  us  men,  as  you  say,  to  be  in 
favour  of  the  pretty  face." 

"Oh!  I  know,"  said  the  lady,  with  cheerful  con- 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      131 

tempt,  "you  are  just  as  great  a  goose  at  heart  as  all 
the  rest,  or  you  wouldn't  be  a  man,  dear  sir.  My! 
I  do  wonder  sometimes  how  the  same  Creator  came 
to  make  us  both.  I  expect  when  the  Almighty  took 
Adam's  rib.  He  extracted  the  better  half  of  his 
brains  at  the  same  time.  There  's  that  Rodriguez, 
now.  I  've  just  had  a  letter  from  him  ;  he  says  he  's 
very  sick.  He's  got  influenza.  I  know  what  that 
means.  Now,  a  woman  would  be  cute  enough  to 
have  measles,  or  diphtheria,  or  cholera,  or  something, 
for  a  variety.  There's  never  been  a  man  that 's  had 
influenza  so  frequent."  She  paused,  to  continue 
reflectively,  "It's  a  very  expensive  sickness,  but 
he  's  had  it  once  too  often  this  time." 

Favereau  laughed,  but  made  no  comment.  Under 
the  light  of  the  reading  lamp  the  Marquis  de  Lormes 
was  engaged  in  pruning  his  favourite  finger-nail  with 
a  gold-mounted  penknife.  His  whole  face  was  puck- 
ered into  lines  of  deep  earnestness.  Helen's  clear 
voice  rose  in  the  silence. 

"That  is  the  flag,"  she  was  saying,  "which  the 
great  Mar6chal  de  Cluny,  the  grandson  of  James  the 
Second  (the  last  Stuart  King  of  England,  Joy), 
took  at  Fontenoy.  He  was  only  a  cornet  then.  But 
under  the  lead  of  his  cousin,  the  gallant  Berwick, 
he  charged  the  Hanoverians  at  the  head  of  the  King's 
Household.  You  may  not  know,  my  little  girl,  that 
you  are  actually  under  the  roof  of  the  last  male 
descendant  of  the  royal  race  of  Stuart." 

Gioja  looked  down,  and  toyed  with  the  fringe 
of  her  sash ;  then  she  said,  in  a  small,  hesitating 
voice 


132       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"The  Duke  of  Cluny,  then,  ought  to  be  King  of 
England?" 

Nessie  caught  the  words,  and  burst  into  a  loud 
derisive  cackle;  while  the  Marquis  de  Lormes,  now- 
polishing  the  amended  nail  on  the  seam  of  his  trou- 
sers, looked  up  from  his  final  and  satisfied  contem- 
plation of  the  result  with  a  snigger. 

"A  real  daisy,  isn't  she?  "said  Madame  Rodri- 
guez, in  her  acute  contempt  forgetting  to  modulate 
her  accents. 

The  sailor  looked  round  at  her  with  stern  eyes. 
"We  cannot  expect  Miss  Joy,"  said  he,  "to  under- 
stand the  intricacies  of  a  Stuart  pedigree,  Madame 
Rodriguez."  In  that  bilingual  household,  where 
almost  as  much  English  was  spoken  as  French, 
Helen's  pet  name  for  "her  child"  was  already 
adopted;  and  it  seemed  to  cleave  to  the  girl. 

Helen  had  flushed  under  the  implied  rebuke.  In 
France  thQ  jetme  fille  is  hemmed  in  much  like  a  state 
criminal;  but  the  care  with  which  all  knowledge  of 
the  outer  world  is  kept  from  her  ears  is  nothing  to 
the  respect  with  which  the  emancipated  daughter  of 
America,  free  to  roam  the  world  alone  if  she  choose, 
is  treated  in  her  own  country  by  those  who  accept 
the  trust  of  her  freedom. 

The  fluttering  query  of  Joy's  surprised  eyes,  how- 
ever, demanded  an  answer.  This  Helen  gave  with 
an  embarrassment  that  sat  somewhat  pathetically  on 
her. 

"No,  dear  child,  it  is  as  Mr.  Dodd  says.  And  — 
well,  at  any  rate,  the  English  would  not  acknowledge 
the  claim." 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      133 

"Well,"  said  Nessie,  coming  briskly  forward,  and 
taking  the  girl  by  the  elbow  with  a  vivacity  which 
just  fell  short  of  a  shake,  "now  you  're  in  the  house 
of  a  real  Stuart,  anyhow,  and  if  you  know  your  his- 
tory, you  must  feel  that  it's  a  right-down  romantic 
situation.  My !  Helen,  you  remember,  at  the  con- 
vent, how  we  used  to  dream  about  the  Young  Pre- 
tender; the  wondrous  romances  we  made  up  about 
helping  him  to  escape  from  his  enemies,  hiding 
with  him,  giving  our  lives  to  save  him  in  his  wan- 
derings as  Monsieur  le  Chevalier  Douglas.'^ 

While  she  was  speaking  Cluny  had  returned 
quietly  to  the  room  in  unimpeachable  evening  attire. 
He  was  advancing  towards  the  group,  when  Joy 
slowly  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him.  He 
stopped,  as  if  brought  up  by  an  invisible  barrier. 

"Indeed,  Madame,"  said  the  girl  then,  "I,  too, 
have  had  dreams  about  the  pretender,  Monsieur  le 
Chevalier. " 

As  she  spoke  her  fingers  suddenly  closed  upon 
the  fringe  she  was  playing  with,  and  with  incredible 
strength  tore  the  silk  cord  in  two.  None  marked 
her  attitude  except  the  Duke  himself  and  Nessie. 
The  former  turned  abruptly  away,  the  latter  flew  like 
a  butterfly  across  the  room  back  again  to  Favereau, 
and  caught  him  by  the  sleeve. 

"  I  say.  Monsieur  Favereau,  did  you  see  the  look 
the  innocent  orphan  threw  at  the  Duke  just  now? 
What  is  Helen  about?  What  is  she  doing?  Oh,  I 
do  want  to  know !  " 

Favereau  put  up  his  eye-glass :  "  At  this  moment. 


134       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Madame,  the  Duchess  seems  to  be  explaining  the 
nature  of  the  contents  of  a  case  of  decorations  to  the 
interesting  young  lady  she  has  adopted." 

Madame  Rodriguez  stamped  her  foot  with  fury. 
"Oh,  you  men!"  she  cried,  "I  do  despise  you! 
You  never  see  what's  under  your  nose." 

Favereau  brought  the  eye-glass  to  focus  on  her 
little  foot. 

"I  see,  Madame,"  said  he,  without  any  change  of 
tone,  "the  foot  of  Cinderella  in  the  slipper  of  tlie 
princess." 

Nessie's  wrath  fell  from  her  on  the  instant.  A 
slow  smile  spread  over  her  dusky  face. 

"You  like  it.-*"  she  asked,  coquetting.  She 
pointed  her  toe  from  side  to  side,  twitching  her 
flounces  daintily  as  she  did  so.  "But  what's  the 
use  of  it  with  these  stupid  skirts  anyhow.?" 

"  Madame,"  said  Favereau,  solemnly,  "  the  inspired 
being  who  creates  feminine  fashions  is  fully  aware 
that  women's  ingenuity  amounts  to  genius.  I  think 
these  skirts  delightful.  If  a  woman  has  a  pretty 
foot,  like  truth  —  nay,  like  murder  —  the  more  you 
try  to  hide  it,  the  more  it  will  out." 

"Here  is  Maman"  said  Totol's  pipy  voice 
suddenly. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THERE  was  a  general  sensation. 
Totol  upon  one  side,  the  Duke  upon  the 
other,  advanced  together,  according  to  rule,  to 
lead  in  the  lady  who,  in  a  voluminous  garrhent  of 
purple  silk  and  floating  veils  of  black  lace  that 
exhaled  faint  odours  of  lavender  and  pepper,  looked 
more  imposing  than  ever. 

Her  first  glance  was,  as  usual,  a  masterpiece  of 
comprehensive  disfavour  upon  the  company  at  large. 
It  took  in  the  solid  figure  of  her  first  son,  who  made 
no  attempt  to  advance  to  her  aid.  Indeed,  unless  he 
had  contented  himself  with  propelling  her  from 
behind,  there  was  nothing  left  for  him  to  do  in  that 
respect.  It  next  withered  Favereau,  first  for  the 
indecency  of  his  existing  at  all,  secondly  for  his 
exalted  position  in  the  Government  of  an  odious 
Republic.  Neither  Joy  nor  Nessie  were  forgotten; 
old  scores  were  looked,  with  interest,  at  the  latter; 
while  in  the  dart  of  displeasure  vouchsafed  towards 
the  former  there  was  a  vivacity  called  forth  by  the 
freshness  of  a  new  grievance. 

"I  trust  you  are  more  rested,  dear  Aunt,"  said 
Helen,  gently. 


136       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Under  her  guidance,  the  process  of  establishing 
the  majestic  relative  in  the  armchair  was  accom- 
plished without  a  hitch. 

"There  is  no  rest  for  me  in  this  world,"  responded 
the  high  dame,  sepulchrally.  "  I  thank  you,  Charles- 
Edward,"  placing  a  still  handsome  foot,  clad  in  a  flat 
slipper,  upon  the  proffered  footstool.  "Anatole,  my 
shawl. " 

When  the  dutiful  son  had  carefully  enveloped  his 
mother,  he  was  peremptorily  shown  a  high  chair  at 
her  side.  Having  thus  strategically  divided  him 
from  the  dangerous  proximity  of  Madame  Rodriguez, 
the  Marquise,  with  a  sigh,  folded  her  hands  and  pre- 
pared herself  with  an  air  of  deep  resignation  for 
whatever  conversation  might  be  inflicted  upon  her. 

Feeling  that  the  little  figure  seemed  somewhat 
abandoned,  Helen  turned  and  boldly  drew  the  girl 
into  the  fire-light  circle. 

"We  have  yet  to  thank  you,  Aunt,"  said  she,  "for 
your  kind  care  of  this  young  traveller.  I  fear  she 
is  still  too  timid  to  speak  for  herself." 

"It  did  not  strike  me,"  responded  the  Marquise, 
without  deigning  to  lift  her  heavy  lids,  "it  did  not 
strike  me,  Helen,  during  our  weary  journey  to-day, 
that  Mademoiselle's  decided  lack  of  conversation 
arose  from  timidity." 

"Ah!"  cried  Helen,  gaily,  "if  you  had  seen  her 
as  I  did  just  now.  Fancy,  Aunt;  listen,  Nessie;  a 
cruel  godmother  actually  left  this  unhappy  child 
alone  for  five  minutes  with  two  great  ogres  of 
men!" 


THE    SECRET   ORCHARD       137 

The  Duchess  sat  down  on  the  sofa  as  she  spoke, 
and  drew  Joy  by  her  side.  Madame  de  Lormes 
closed  her  eyes  and  leaned  rigidly  back  upon  her 
chair,  everything  in  her  attitude  conveying  that, 
benevolent  as  she  was,  she  could  not  be  expected  to 
listen  to  this  sort  of  thing.  But  Helen  pursued, 
smiling: 

"  If  I  could,  I  would  show  you  the  faces  of  the 
trio  as  I  came  in.  She,  this  creature,  was  just  like 
some  poor  little  rabbit  caught  in  a  trap.  And  they, 
Favereau  and  Cluny,  oh"  —  merriment  overflowed 
her  sweet  lips  —  "I  told  them  they  looked  more 
alarmed  even  than  she." 

"My!"  commented  Nessie,  sarcastically,  "you 
don't  say!" 

Leaning  on  the  back  of  the  sofa,  she  had  propped 
her  chin  upon  her  hands,  and  from  this  coign  of 
vantage  could  not  only  exchange  audacious  grimaces 
with  the  Marquis  across  his  mother's  deliberately 
unseeing  countenance,  but  was  also  enabled  to  keep 
an  alert  eye  upon  the  movements  of  the  three  men 
who  in  undertones  were  conversing  in  the  distance. 

The  more,  however,  her  intimate  circle  seemed 
disposed  covertly  to  snub  her  proUg^e,  the  more  was 
Helen  determined  to  carry  off  the  situation  in  her 
own  way.  Feigning  not  to  hear  Nessie's  jeer,  she 
now  continued  to  address  the  silent  girl  beside  her 
in  the  former  strain  of  tender  gaiety. 

"Though  men  are  such  great  big  creatures,  dear," 
she  said,  "and  wear  hair  upon  their  faces,  and  have 
such  strange  ugly  clothes,  when  you  come  to  know 


138       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

them  you  will  really  find  that  they  are  good,  kind, 
simple  beings." 

"And  they  are  always  particularly  kind  to  little 
girls,"  interposed  Madame  Rodriguez,  mimicking 
Helen's  tone,  "  bless  their  simple  hearts !  And  they 
never,  never  want  to  eat  them  up,  if  they  are  good." 

Looking  like  a  pretty  Puck,  she  had  thrust  her 
face  between  her  friend  and  Joy.  This  time  Helen 
was  forced  to  take  notice  of  her. 

"Hush,  Nessie!  Remember,  if  you  please,  that 
Joy  has  probably  never  seen  a  gentleman  to  speak 
to,  except  perhaps  the  chaplain  or  the  school  doctor." 

"Quite  Eve  before  the  fall,  in  fact,"  said  Mrs. 
Nessie,  drawing  back  to  exchange  a  glance  of  mean- 
ing with  the  Marquis  Totol. 

The  latter  could  find  no  better  way  of  expressing 
his  delighted  appreciation  of  her  wit  than  by  crack- 
ing all  his  finger  joints  in  turn  —  a  token  of  admira- 
tion which,  for  want  of  a  better,  was  sufficient  to 
stimulate  Nessie  to  further  sparkles. 

"  Quite  Eve  before  the  fall,"  she  reiterated,  "ain't 
it  ?  Beg  pardon  though.  Eve  had  been  introduced  to 
Adam,  I  believe.  But  Mademoiselle  didn't  seem 
to  be  so  kind  of  skeary  just  now  with  your  cousin, 
Mr.  George  P.  Dodd." 

"Nessie,"  cried  Helen,  flushing,  "you  really 
must  not." 

Here  Madame  de  Lormes  opened  her  eyes  as  sud- 
denly as  a  mechanical  doll  that  is  patted  on  the 
back. 

"Pray,  Madame  Rodriguez,"  she  interpolated,  "be 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       139 

good  enough  not   to  drag  the   name  of  any  son  of 
mine  into  this  foolish  discussion." 

Upon  this  she  immediately  relapsed  into  her  feint 
of  slumber.  Joy,  immovable,  save  for  the  plucking 
fingers,  suddenly  shot  a  glance  from  the  elder  lady's 
large  repressive  profile  to  Nessie's  small  face,  quiv- 
ering with  mischief.  Madame  de  Lormes  sustained 
it,  of  course,  with  serene  unconsciousness;  but 
Nessie  started  with  a  little  cry  that  was  more  than 
half  genuine. 

"My!"  she  exclaimed.  "Don't!"  and  put  up  her 
fan  as  if  for  a  screen.  "  I  say,  Helen,  the  new  pet 
seems  like  the  celebrated  old  parrot:  if  it  doesn't 
say  much,  it  thinks  a  deal  more.  Her  eyes  are  elo- 
quent enough,  anyhow." 

Helen  glanced  down  at  the  girl,  saw  nothing  but 
long  lashes  trembling  on  small,  pale  cheeks.  She 
flung  her  arm  protectingly  round  her.  In  her  gentle 
heart  she  was  now  as  angry  with  Nessie  as  she  could 
be  angry  with  any  one;  but  she  was  still  resolved 
not  to  betray  it,  her  one  desire  being  to  keep  the 
poor  little  stranger  from  any  suspicion  of  unwelcome. 

After  noting  the  action,  Madame  Rodriguez  pro- 
ceeded in  her  high  nasal  tone  of  irony : 

"  But  we  must  not  tell  her  that,  must  we.^  Or  she 
would  never  dare  to  raise  them  again.  She  's  so 
shy,  you  know."  Glancing  round,  she  caught 
Cluny's  intent  look  upon  the  group;  and,  inspired 
by  a  fresh  imp,  she  hailed  him.  "  Say,  Duke,  you 
come  right  along  here  a  minute.  Seems  you  've 
been   and    gone   and    frightened   a  bashful    lamb. 


I40       THE    SECRET  ORCHARD 

Come  right  here,  you  bad  wolf,  and  tell  her  that 
you  never  harmed  youth  and  innocence  in  your  life; 
and  that  you  just  love  to  watch  the  dear  little  white- 
woolly  darlings  gambol  on  the  green." 

Cluny  stood  a  moment  and  felt  as  if  turned  to 
lead.  He  heard  his  wife's  rebuking  voice,  "  Nessie, 
Nessie,  you're  too  bad!"  and  then  the  exquisite 
caress  of  her  tone  to  Joy :  "  You  must  not  mind  her, 
she  's  only  a  wicked  tease."  Then  she  spoke  to  him. 
There  was  a  special  accent  in  her  voice  reserved  for 
him  only.     It  pierced  him  now  to  the  marrow. 

"Yes,  come  to  us,  Cluny,"  she  was  saying,  "and 
make  amends.     You  did  frighten  her,  you  know." 

He  came  forward,  his  limbs  moving,  it  seemed, 
independently  of  his  will. 

"How  can  I  make  amends?"  he  asked,  his  eyes, 
dark  with  trouble,  fixed  on  his  wife's  face.  The 
hoarseness  of  his  own  accents  frightened  him,  but  he 
pulled  himself  together  by  a  strenuous  effort.  With 
a  semblance  of  gaiety,  that  factitious  merriment 
which  to  this  naturally  light-hearted  man  seemed 
perhaps  more  hideous  than  it  would  to  any  other,  he 
repeated :  "  How  can  I  make  amends  .-*  " 

It  surprised  him  that  no  one  seemed  to  notice  any- 
thing peculiar  in  his  manner.  Helen  smiled  back 
at  him. 

"Look  up,  Joy,"  said  she.  "Speak,  darling, 
answer  the  Duke." 

The  girl's  restless  hands  became  suddenly  still. 
"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  say,  Madame.-'  "  she  asked, 
after  a  marked  pause,  in  her  small,  measured  voice. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      141 

"Why,  tell  him  that  you  are  sorry  to  have  been 
a  little  goose,  that  you  and  he  are  going  to  be  the 
best  of  friends." 

Cluny's  smiling  lips  twitched.  There  was  a 
moment's  expectant  pause.  Then  Nessie  broke  it 
with  a  laugh. 

"I  reckon,"  said  the  little  lady,  while  her  mock- 
ing eyes  scanned  her  host's  countenance,  "that  you 
were  in  the  right  of  it  just  now,  Helen.  It 's  the 
Duke  that 's  the  frightened  one." 

Joy  looked  up  swiftly.  The  Duke  burst  into  a 
jarring  laugh. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  exclaimed  Favereau,  breaking  off 
his  conversation  with  Mr.  Dodd  in  an  unwontedly 
abrupt  manner  and  advancing  towards  the  fire-place. 
"  You  seem  all  very  merry  here.  Let  me  join  in  the 
joke." 

"They  have  put  me  on  the  stool  of  repentance," 
said  Cluny,  still  with  laughter  absurdly  in  excess  of 
the  humour  of  the  situation.  "  'T  is  a  trying  ordeal 
for  a  retiring,  and  —  aha,  innocent  man." 

Here  Joy  startled  them  all  by  suddenly  breaking 
into  shrill  merriment,  which  she  as  suddenly  stifled 
with  her  handkerchief  pressed  to  her  mouth. 
Madame  de  Lormes  aroused  herself  sufficiently  from 
her  inner  meditation  to  throw  her  a  look  of  scathing 
reprobation. 

But  Helen  was  delighted.  So,  too,  was  Mr. 
Dodd,  who  promptly  turned  round  from  his  renewed 
contemplation  of  the  famous  Vandyck,  with  a  broad 
sympathetic  smile  on  his  countenance. 


142       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"So  she  can  laugh,  the  monkey,"  said  the  Duch- 
ess, and  patted  the  frail  shoulder  beside  her.  "  Ah, 
how  sweet  it  is  to  hear  the  laugh  of  a  young  thing ! 
Don't  be  ashamed  of  it,  ma  petite.  That  is  a  sound 
I  shall  often  want  to  greet  my  ears.  There,  peace 
is  signed,  is  it  not.-*  " 

Cluny  had  recovered  his  self-control.  He  now 
advanced  a  step,  and  addressed  Joy  with  formal 
courtesy. 

"  Let  me  assure  you  most  solemnly.  Mademoiselle," 
said  he,  "that  while  I  have  the  privilege  of  receiv- 
ing you  in  my  house,  I,  as  your  host,  have  no  desire 
but  for  your  welfare." 

The  girl  seemed  to  revolve  these  words  in  her 
mind  before  answering.  Then  she  murmured,  her 
head  bent,  her  eyes  cast  down  in  her  favourite 
attitude: 

"Thank  you." 

"Oh  dear,  oh  dear!"  cried  Helen,  half  amused, 
half  vexed,  "how  formal  we  are!" 


CHAPTER   XVI 

IN  bustled  Dr.  Lebel,  with  his  frock-coat  neatly 
buttoned  up  and  a  brand  new  tie  —  his  notion  of 
dinner  dress  never  went  further  —  rubbing   his 
hands  and  diffusing  a  strong  odour  of  scented  soap. 

"  Eh,  eh !  I  thought  I  was  the  last,  but  our  friend 
the  Canon,"  cried  he,  "is  late,  as  usual,  I  perceive. 
Ah,  Monsieur  le  Due  !  Is  that  the  face  you  bring  us 
back  from  Paris.-'  Better  have  stopped  at  home! 
Madame  la  Marquise,  your  servitor. " 

The  lady  made  him  a  regal  bow  —  a  bow  the  gra- 
ciousness  of  which  was  tempered  by  the  consideration 
that,  though  he  understood  her  digestion  to  a  nicety, 
she  could  not  blind  herself  to  the  fact  that  his  polit- 
ical opinions  were  generally  reprehensible. 

"  Ah,  and  do  I  see  my  young  friend,  the  Marquis  ?  " 
Lebel  went  on.  "Positively,  my  dear  Madam,  he 
has  not  changed  since  I  was  called  in  to  save  his  life 
the  day  of  his  first  cigar.  Do  you  remember.  Mon- 
sieur Totol.?  Eh,  eh,  eh!"  Dr.  Lebel  rubbed  his 
hands  again.  "  Rose  is  doing  capitally  —  capitally, " 
said  he,  in  a  professional  undertone,  to  Helen. 
Then  he  wheeled  his  sharp  eye  upon  Dodd.  "Aha, 
the    famous    cousin!"      The    voluble    little    man 


144      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

clasped  the  American  warmly  by  the  hand  and  shook 
it  up  and  down,  the  while,  from  his  inferior  level, 
he  gazed  at  him  with   critical,  scientific   scrutiny. 

"  What  a  type  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  !  Ah,  the  fine 
race!  Madame,"  said  he,  wheeling  his  tubby  figure 
once  again  to  the  dowager,  "I  congratulate  you." 

There  was  a  tone  of  real  respect  in  his  voice.  He 
had  not  in  truth  believed  the  lady  capable  of  pro- 
ducing anything  so  sensible.  Helen  was  burning 
to  show  off  her  new  acquisition. 

"  But  my  child,  Doctor,  my  child,"  she  began.  "  I 
have  to  be  felicitated  too." 

Even  as  she  spoke,  the  folding  doors  into  the  hall 
were  ceremoniously  thrown  open. 

"The  Canon,  Monsieur  le  Due,"  announced  the 
majordomo,  scarcely  less  majestic  himself  than  the 
personage  he  was  ushering  in.  "  Monsieur  le  Due, 
dinner  is  served." 

Bland,  dignified,  sure  of  himself  and  of  his  hosts, 
the  Canon  entered. 

"Am  I  late,  my  dear  child.''  What  a  happy  gath- 
ering !     Madatne  la  Marquise  !  " 

"  Monsieur  le  CJianoine  !  " 

George  Dodd,  looking  on,  smiled  to  himself  as  he 
watched  the  ceremony  of  greeting  between  the  two 
dignitaries.  It  was  as  good  as  a  play,  he  told  him- 
self. And  what  tickled  him  most  was  the  earnest- 
ness of  both  the  actors.  The  Canon  bowed.  The 
lady,  who  had  risen  to  meet  him,  swept  him  one  of 
those  curtseys  that  are  a  revelation  to  the  younger 
generation.     Here  she  could  conscientiously  bestow 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       145 

unreserved  approval,  not  only  upon  the  churchman, 
but  upon  the  man  of  family.  She  next  extended  her 
hand.     As  he  took  it  with  a  second  inclination : 

"  I  trust  I  see  Madame  la  Marquise  in  good  health," 
said  he. 

"Alas,  Monsieur  le  Chanoine But  I  do  not 

complain." 

The  hands  parted,  and  upon  the  parting  a  grace- 
fully retiring  curtsey  and  congee  were  duly  enacted. 
Cordially  then  the  good  Canon  shook  hands  with 
the  master  of  the  house.  Indulgently  he  received 
the  introduction  of  the  heretic  American.  Patron- 
isingly  he  nodded  to  Totol. 

"Madame,"  said  he  to  Nessie,  "we  have  met 
before. " 

Then  Helen  was  able  to  draw  his  attention  to  Joy. 

"  But  here  is  one  you  have  not  met  before.  Canon. 
This  is  Gioja. " 

Instantly  the  Canon  dropped  his  man-of-the-world 
air,  and  became  the  priest.  Benevolently,  yet 
searchingly,  he  examined  the  little  figure  thrust, 
shrinking,  forward  to  his  notice.  And  as  he  looked, 
approval  began  to  beam  from  his  eyes. 

On  the  other  side  the  Doctor,  both  thumbs 
hooked  into  his  trousers  pockets  (an  attitude  which 
entailed  a  somewhat  curious  arrangement  of  frock- 
coat),  his  scrubby,  bearded  chin  sunk  in  his  breast 
and  his  eyes  very  keen  under  their  bushy  brows,  was 
engaged  in  the  same  scrutiny.  But  apparently  with 
less  satisfaction,  for  the  lines  of  perplexity  on  his 
face  grew  deeper  every  moment. 

10 


146       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"  So  this  is  the  child  ?  "  said  the  Canon.  "  I  have 
heard  of  you,  my  dear.  Come,  let  us  make  acquaint- 
ance." 

He  took  her  by  both  hands  and  drew  her  towards 
him.  She  hung  her  head,  a  shy  maiden.  After  his 
pause  of  investigation  the  priest  looked  at  Helen, 
and  both  these  worthy,  innocent-minded  people  ex- 
changed a  silent  smiling  look.  The  work  of  charity 
seemed  indeed  to  have  been  pleasantly  rewarded. 
Then  he  laid  his  hand  for  a  moment  upon  the  girl's 
head. 

"The  good  God,"  said  he,  "who  loves  the  young, 
has  dealt  very  tenderly  with  you,  my  child.  Have 
you  thought  of  thanking  Him  for  His  extraordinary 
protection.?" 

The  little  head,  with  its  wealth  of  curls,  was 
bowed  still  deeper. 

"  That  is  well, "  went  on  the  priest.  "  Your  name, 
the  Duchess  tells  me,  is  Gioja.  Gioja  —  Joy,  a 
pretty  name !  May  it  be  an  omen  of  what  you  will 
bring  to  this  house,  and  what  you  will  find  here  for 
yourself.     God  bless  you  !  " 

The  Doctor  turned  upon  his  heel  with  a  hideous 
grimace,  and,  rubbing  his  chin,  produced  a  quite 
audible  crackle.  He  looked  round  the  room,  irre- 
sponsively  passing  Nessie's  eager,  interrogative 
gaze,  his  glance  resting  finally  upon  Favereau's 
tired  face.  Then  the  two  elderly  men,  who  knew 
the  world,  had  a  swift  interchange  of  thought. 

Said  the  Doctor's  eye:  "  What  have  zve  got  here  ?" 

Said  Favereau's,  in  a  sort  of  agony:  "Don't  ask 
me." 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      147 

Then  exclaimed  the  eyes  of  both:  "Ah,  diable !" 

"Helen,"  inquired  Madame  de  Lormes,  blandly, 
"  is  it  intended  that  we  should  dine  to-night  ?  " 

Helen  started,  blushed,  and  laughed,  "My  dear 
Aunt,  my  dear  guests,  indeed  I  must  beg  pardon. " 

Cluny,  with  alacrity,  offered  his  arm  to  his  for- 
midable relative.  Nessie,  avowing  that  she  was 
"that  hollow,  she  couldn't  have  held  up  another 
moment,"  fluttered  to  Favereau's  side. 

"Now,  Canon,"  cried  the  Duchess,  gaily,  "I 
claim  your  arm." 

Then  she  hesitated,  looking  at  Joy  and  the  three 
remaining  men.  Totol  glanced  askance  over  his 
shoulder,  and  endeavoured  to  hide  his  minuteness 
behind  the  Doctor's  breadth. 

"So  long  as  they  don't  glue  me  to  the  school- 
girl," he  whispered.  '^  Ah,  ^a.  Doctor,  my  friend, 
how  I  do  hate  a  bread-and-butter  miss!" 

Helen  noted  her  younger  cousin's  retreat,  and  the 
simultaneous  involuntary  step  forward  of  the  elder. 
She  smiled. 

"George,"  said  she  to  the  sailor,  "you  will  escort 
Joy."  Then,  under  pretence  of  settling  the  girl's 
lace,  she  bent  over  and  whispered  in  her  ear:  "This 
gentleman,  dear,  will  give  you  his  arm  to  take  you 

in  to  dinner.     Why "     Her  fingers  had  fallen 

on  the  string  of  pearls.  She  drew  it  out,  amused. 
"  Ah,  little  Miss  Vanity,  what  is  this }  "  Her  amuse- 
ment changed  to  deep  surprise.  This,  in  sooth,  was 
no   school-girl's    jewel.     "Pearls,    if    you    please! 


148      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

And  such  pearls !  Who  could  have  given  you  such 
pearls,  child? " 

Cluny  at  the  door  of  the  room  stopped  involun- 
tarily; Favereau,  second  in  the  procession,  turned 
round  with  desperate  deliberation,  ready  for  emer- 
gencies. Joy  looked  full  from  one  man  to  the  other, 
then  turned  to  her  godmother. 

"  One  who  loved  me,  as  I  was  told,  sent  them  to 
me,  Madame,"  she  answered,  at  last,  slowly  and 
distinctly. 

"  Ah ! "  cried  Helen,  and  the  tears  sprang  to  her 
eyes.  "  I  am  doing  nothing  but  stupid  things  this 
evening,"  she  went  on,  in  an  undertone  to  the 
Canon.  "The  poor  mother!  I  might  have  known. 
Come,  Canon,  let  us  dine." 

"Pray,"  said  Nessie,  in  a  vicious  undertone,  to 
the  Doctor,  as  she  settled  into  her  seat  at  the  further 
end  of  the  rose-decked  table  —  "  pray,  what  is  your 
opinion  of  the  Duchess's  new  daughter.? " 

"Madame,"  said  Dr.  Lebel,  good-humouredly, 
while  he  tucked  his  napkin  under  his  chin,  "the 
young  lady  would  seem  to  me  to  belong  to  a  type 
sufficiently  rare  to  be  interesting  as  a  curiosity  to  a 
medical  mind,  but  not  otherwise,  since  vivisection 
is  not  allowed  on  the  human  subject.  There  is  one 
if  you  like  who  will  never  be  ill  unless  she  were  to 
take  pqison.  Red  blood  she  has,  that  one!  And 
nerves  —  oh,  M'ame,  nerves  of  steel !  " 

"Red  blood!"  ejaculated  Nessie,  contemptuously. 
"With  that  whey  face?" 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 


149 


"A  thick  skin,  yes.  Creamy  white,"  said  the 
Doctor  with  conviction.     "That  is  of  the  type." 

He  sucked  in  his  first  spoonful  of  soup  with  every 
symptom  of  appreciation.  Nessie  pondered  for  a 
moment,  marking  across  the  table  how  the  sailor's 
sea-blue  eyes  kindled  and  how  soft  his  voice  grew  as 
he  turned  to  address  his  impassive  partner. 

"Then  you  don't  think  it  is  such  a  timid,  fragile 
soul .''  "  she  said  spitefully. 

The  Doctor  finished  his  last  mouthful  of  soup, 
laid  down  his  spoon  with  a  sigh,  and  polished  his 
mouth  with  his  napkin. 

"Eh,  Ma'am,"  said  he,  "you  must  not  come  to  me 
with  questions  about  souls.  Inquire  for  this  article 
over  the  way.  Ask  our  friend  the  Canon  yonder. 
The  body  of  my  neighbour  gives  me  quite  enough  to 
think  about." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE  dinner  table  was  a  large  one  for  the  com- 
paratively small  party.  But  Helen,  who  since 
she  had  entered  this  noble  house  had  had  but 
one  thought,  that  of  keeping  up  its  dignity;  who 
spent  her  time  like  some  vestal  virgin,  continually 
feeding  the  sacred  fires  of  her  temple,  — would  have 
thought  it  desecration  to  replace  the  great  carved 
oak  by  any  modern,   if  more  convenient  board. 

On  the  rare  occasions  when  she  and  Cluny  were 
quite  alone  in  the  castle,  they  had  their  meals  in  a 
gay  little  Chinese  room  looking  on  the  conservatory. 
There,  unless  detained  by  their  spiritual  or  temporal 
duties,  the  Canon  and  the  Doctor  invariably  found 
their  places  laid  as  a  matter  of  course  at  a  table, 
just  large  enough  to  hold  them  all  four  round  a  silver 
bowl  of  flowers.  But  when  there  were  other  visitors 
the  dining-hall  was  roused  from  its  slumberous 
antique  solemnity.  And  though  to-night  the  guests 
were  rather  too  far  from  each  other  for  the  stimula- 
tion of  conviviality,  the  huge  board  was  made  as 
harmoniously  gay  as  flowers  and  fruit  and  the  accu- 
mulated silver  treasure  of  the  house  could  make  it. 

This  night,  to  any  one  not  gifted  with  the  powers 
of  Asmodeus,  in  the  rare  old-world  room,  between 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       151 

the  dark  walls  hung  with  historic  tapestry,  under  a 
ceiling  where,  round  the  central  quasi-royal  arms  of 
the  first  Duke,  were  blazoned  all  the  subsequent 
honours  the  race  had  gathered  to  itself,  the  company 
assembled  would  have  seemed,  if  somewhat  incon- 
gruously matched,  in  the  highest  possible  humour. 
Most  of  the  diners,  after  the  genial  French  way, 
talked  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  at  the  same  time, 
and  with  much  gesticulation. 

A  flush  had  risen  to  Cluny's  cheek,  his  eyes  were 
bright.  The  almost  hysterical  reaction  after  the 
moment  of  mortal  peril  successfully  escaped  was 
upon  him,  together  with  the  recklessness,  the  joy  of 
his  despair,  if  one  may  use  so  paradoxical  a  phrase. 
The  conflict  with  conscience  was  over,  that  was  one 
thing. 

He  was  going  to  the  devil,  and  the  devil  was  mak- 
ing it  easy  for  him  at  last;  he  would  not  fail  to  con- 
tinue to  show  the  way.  The  girl  had  accepted  the 
situation,  it  seemed.  The  moment  when,  by  a  word, 
she  could  have  blasted  him  was  over  for  ever.  Who 
zaould  believe  her  now?  He  had  but  to  go  on  as  he 
had  begun,  '  to  lie  like  a  man, '  and  Helen,  his  Helen, 
would  never  know. 

His  laugh  rang  out.  Never  had  his  wit  been  more 
pointed,  his  illustration  more  apt.  Even  Madame 
de  Lormes,  who,  as  was  said,  regarded  Cluny  with 
the  peculiar  favour  her  lofty  mind  could  have 
accorded   to    no    lesser    star   of    the    Almanach   de 


152      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Gotha,  even  Madame  de  Lormes'  spirits  began  to 
react  against  the  depression  caused  by  the  strange 
action  of  a  ruling  providence  in  permitting  the  reap- 
pearance of  her  American  son.  As  for  this  latter, 
he  found,  as  the  minutes  passed  by,  that  the  per- 
sonality of  his  quiet  little  neighbour  was  affecting 
him  in  a  more  and  more  troubling  manner. 

He  had  first  been  drawn  to  her  out  of  a  natural 
instinct  of  manly  championship  evoked  by  his 
mother's  ungenerous  attitude  on  the  one  side,  and 
his  brother's  undisguised  impertinent  aversion  on 
the  other.  She  had  seemed  so  small,  so  white,  so 
childish  a  thing,  that  he  would  have  liked  to  call 
her  "my  dear,"  and  throw  his  strong  arm  round  her 
in  protective  brotherly  fashion.  But  now,  by  some 
magnetic  influence  that  seemed  to  emanate  even  from 
her  very  reserve,  by  the  curious  fluttering  glances 
she  flung  at  him  from  time  to  time,  by  the  dimple 
that  a  little  secret  smile,  caused  by  some  chance 
remark  of  his  printed  in  the  half-averted  cheek,  by 
the  stirring  of  his  own  blood,  he  felt  that  this  child 
was  very  woman  after  all. 

As  the  meal  progressed,  who  shall  say  what  con- 
flicting thoughts,  what  emotions  were  revolving  in 
the  girl's  own  busy  mind?  She  would  not  have 
been,  as  she  was,  human  of  elemental  humanity,  had 
she  not  felt  the  intoxication  of  the  luxury  and  the 
beauty  around  her;  luxury  such  as  .n  her  most  ambi- 
tious dreams  she  could  not  have  conceived;  beauty 
which  awoke  every  dormant  artistic  passion  in  an 
extraordinarily  passionate  nature. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      153 

He  is  master  here.  He  is  a  Duke.  A  King's 
son.  How  I  hate  him!  He  laughs.  What  beautiful 
teeth  he  has!  How  I  love  him!  We  shall  live  in  the 
same  house,  and  it  is  I  who  will  hold  him.  My  God, 
how  her  eyes  devour  him  !  She  is  beautiful —  but  she 
is  stupid.  He  looks  at  me.  He  did  love  me.  I  made 
him  love  me  once.  And  this  great  Americajt,  he  loves 
me  too,  ajtd  I  never  thought  of  it,  or  of  him.  How 
good  these  flowers,  this  champag7ie.  He  gave  me 
champagne  that  day  —  a/i,  that  day  !  If  I  think  of  it, 
perhaps  I  can  make  him  think  of  it  too. 

"Look  at  the  dear  little  one,"  said  Helen,  whis- 
pering to  the  Canon;  "it  is  like  a  blossom  opening 
out  to  the  warmth  and  the  light." 

But  here  the  Doctor's  voice  rose  with  sudden 
rasping  insistence.  He  had  heard  the  Marquis 
drop  the  fatal  word  "  Dreyfus. "  He  thumped  the 
table  with  the  handle  of  his  knife. 

"But  you  can't  condemn  a  man  if  you  can't  prove 
him  guilty :  no  honest  man  can  get  out  of  that. " 

"For  me,"  Madame  de  Lormes  was  saying,  as  she 
spread  out  her  white  hands,  "the  man  is  a  criminal. 
I  bow  to  the  decision  of  ,the  tribunals  of  my 
country." 

"What,  Aunt,"  cried  Cluny,  mockingly,  "bow  to 
Republican  Tribunals? " 

"My  dear  Charles-Edward,"  said  the  lady,  "why, 
the  man  is  a  Jew! " 

" A'ie,  ate,  ate!"  interrupted  Totol,  in  an  acute 
voice.     He   thrust   his   fingers    into   his   ears    and 


154      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

waggled  his  wizened  face  from  side  to  side  in  comic 
despair.  "  How  can  any  one  still  talk  of  this  weary 
business?  Who  cares,  who  did  ever  care,  whether 
the  wretched  creature  did  or  didn't?  I  am  sure  if 
anybody  in  France  had  a  penn'orth  of  wit  and  go,  he 
would  have  put  a  ball  through  his  head  long  ago  — 
sent  him  to  some  Devil's  Island  from  whence  he 
could  not  have  come  back  in  such  a  hurry  to  bother 
us  all  to  death.     Lord,  Lord,  the  beastly  saw  !  " 

The  Doctor,  who  had  been  craning  his  neck  for- 
ward with  angry  intentness  and  rolling  his  ensan- 
guined eye  from  one  speaker  to  the  other,  here 
opened  his  mouth  as  if  for  the  passage  of  a  roar. 
He  changed  his  mind,  however,  and  closed  it  again 
with  a  snap.  The  American,  who,  although  well 
acquainted  with  French,  had  not  yet  an  ear  attuned 
to  the  rapid  apprehension  of  table-talk,  was  just  a 
minute  behind  in  the  following  of  the  conversation. 
Then,  a  fine  flush  of  indignation  mounting  to  his 
brow,  he  in  his  turn  looked  round  the  table  to  see  if 
the  Doctor  was  to  be  the  only  representative  of 
common  fairness  of  judgment. 

Favereau  was  wrapt  in  garments  of  official  reserve. 
The  Duke,  as  he  met  the  inquiring  eye,  said,  over 
the  edge  of  his  glass: 

"A  dirty  business  altogether;"  but  left  his  guest 
to  elucidate  for  himself  on  which  side  cleaved  the 
dirt.  From  the  contemptuous  indifference  of  his 
manner  it  was  probable  he  referred  impartially  to 
both. 

"  Poor  France ! "  cried  the  Doctor  at  last,  his  pent- 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      155 

up  feelings  bursting  out  irrepressibly.  "  If  she  were 
a  person,  one  would  have  to  say  that  she  was  very 
ill  —  very  ill." 

As  the  Doctor  spoke,  Dodd  saw  that  he  instinc- 
tively addressed  himself  to  the  Minister.  The  latter 
jerked  his  head  with  an  affirmative  melancholy  that 
seemed  beyond  words. 

"Ah,  tenes,''  said  Dr.  Lebel,  gesticulating  with  a 
silver  fork  on  which  was  stuck  a  large  piece  of  pine- 
apple, "  I  am  a  doctor,  I,  and  I  ought  to  know  some- 
thing of  diagnosis.  France  has  had  some  very  ugly 
symptoms  —  enough  to  warn  those  who  love  her. 
Oh,  I  '11  pass  over  the  surrenders  of  Sedan  and  Metz 
and  the  horrors  of  the  Commune,  over  the  decoration 
business,  over  the  Panama  business,  all  that  belongs 
to  the  now  mature  generations.  Take  the  last  couple 
of  years  only.  You  want  to  know  what 's  the  condi- 
tion of  the  youth  of  France  —  the  gilded  youth  —  the 
educated,  the  wealthy  youth,  that  ought  to  be  re- 
garded as  the  hope  of  the  nation,  the  class  that  ought 
to  lead  the  others?  Well,  then,  see  it  put  to  the 
test ;  take  the  Bazar  de  la  ChariU. " 

A  low  murmur  of  horror  ran  round  the  table. 
Cluny  drew  his  brows  together  sensitively. 

"  But  I  think,"  said  Madame  de  Lormes,  addressing 
space  with  an  air  of  grandiose  rebuke,  "that  we 
great  ladies  of  France  were  not  behindhand  in 
giving  an  example  of  heroism  to  the  populace." 

"  Because,  Madame,"  said  the  Canon,  "you  had  the 
courage  of  religion  which,  alas " 

"Wait,  wait,  my  friend,"  interrupted  the  Doctor, 


156       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

who,  having  triumphantly  masticated  his  piece  of 
pine-apple,  was  ready  to  speak  again;  "I  am  coming 
to  you  and  to  the  priesthood  in  France  presently. 
The  women  stuck  to  their  post  upon  that  day  of 
shame,  for  the  simple  reason  that  the  one  section  not 
totally  corrupt  in  our  country  to-day  is  woman. 
Woman  —  God  bless  her !  —  as  we  doctors  know,  is 
ever  the  last  to  fail  in  great  emergencies.  Self- 
sacrifice  is  ingrained  in  her  very  nature.  It  will  be 
a  bad  day  for  France  when  that  last  rope  of  salvation 
breaks.  Yet  even  that "  He  made  an  expres- 
sive grimace.  "There  was  a  day,  when  I  was 
young,  when  Madame  George  Sand  was  supposed 
(by  well-thinking  people)  to  be  a  baneful  writer." 
He  laughed  angrily.  "  Now,  your  favourite  woman 
writer,  Mesdames  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain, 
is —  Gyp!" 

He  thrust  out  his  underlip  with  huge  contempt. 

Totol  burst  into  a  delighted  cackle.  "  Famously 
droll,  all  the  same,  Ma'ame  '  Gyp,'  "  he  cried. 

Nessie  gave  a  guilty  little  giggle,  conscious  of 
having  found  some  amusement  in  such  books. 
Madame  de  Lormes  rinsed  her  fat  taper  finger  in 
the  Venetian  bowl  with  a  detached  air. 

"But,  Doctor,"  said  Helen,  trying  to  follow  the 
arguments  with  her  earnest,  sweet,  but  somehow  slow 
mind  —  "but.  Doctor,  you  are  diverging  from  the 
question.  I  do  not  know  Gyp's  books,  but  I  know 
how  good,  how  charitable,  my  French  friends  are, 
and  surely,  surely  it  is  not  fair  to  blast  all  our  aris- 
tocracy because  of  the  cowardice  of  a  few  worthless 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      157 

young  men"  —  here,  all  unconsciously,  her  tender 
lip  curved  into  scorn.  "If  Cluny  had  been  there 
on  that  horrible  day "  —  her  eye  seemed  to  say 
proudly,  "  my  Cluny  "  —  "  (and  it  is  but  a  chance  we 
were  not,  I  had  actually  promised  the  poor  Duchesse 
d'Alengon)  you  would  have  had  another  story  to 
tell." 

"Ah,  if  Cluny  had  been  there,"  interrupted 
Favereau,  with  the  first  warm  look  he  had  given  his 
host  that  night,  "if  he  had  been  there,  with  you,  he 
would  have  done  the  impossible  to  save  you.  But 
as  you  would  not  have  been  saved  alone  —  I  know 
you  —  you  would  both  have  remained  to  perish." 

"Well,  as  for  me,"  yelped  Totol,  his  face  crink- 
ling, with  the  most  good-natured,  cynical  frankness, 
"  I  don't  go  in  for  pose,  not  I.  I  go  in  for  raw  truth. 
If  people  don't  like  it,  so  much  the  worse.  I  was 
not  at  the  bazaar.  They  bore  me,  bazaars  do. 
Wasn't  it  lucky  now.?"  He  looked  round  amiably 
for  congratulation.  "  But,  faith,  if  I  'd  been  there, 
I  'd  have  looked  after  number  one,  you  know.  Come, 
come,"  he  went  on,  shrilly  crying  down  the  chorus 
of  exclamations,  derisive  and  otherwise,  "I'm  only 
saying  what  every  reasonable  man  thinks.  Come 
Doctor,  aren't  you  the  apostle  of  materialism.? 
Aren't  we  all  animals,  and  isn't  it  animal  instinct 
to  save  one's  skin,  to  shun  pain.?  Oh,  eh.?  If  one 
goes  in  for  free-thinking,  you  know,  one  should  be 
consistent.     Let  us  be  consistent." 

"Hear,  hear!"  said  the  Canon,  softly  and  flung  a 
triumphant  look  at  the  Doctor. 


158       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"PoorTotol,"  sighed  Helen,  indulgently.  "Who 
would  believe  to  hear  him  that  it  is  the  kindest  little 
heart  in  all  the  world  ?  " 

Nessie,  who  had  laughed  openly  and  delightedly 
at  the  little  decadent's  pronouncement,  now  voiced 
the  general  opinion  of  her  world  to  the  Doctor. 

'■^My  word,"  said  she,  "what  a  face,  Doctor! 
D|a,'t  you  know  by  this  time  that  nobody  ever  minds 
the  Marquis.^ " 

"A  lucky  thing,  Madame,"  responded  the  other, 
with  his  prompt,  incisive  humour.  "But  for  that 
one  would  have  had  to  kill  him  long  ago." 

"It's  all  right,"  the  young  man  was  pursuing, 
charmed  to  find  himself  for  once  the  centre  of  atten- 
tion. "It's  all  very  well  for  Abbes  and  women  to 
stand  still  and  be  frizzled  for  the  sake  of  a  lot  of 
people  they  don't  care  a  cent  about;  I  'd  have  used 
my  legs  and  arms  to  save  my  own  skin  —  et  v  Id  !  " 

Dr.  Lebel  spread  out  his  square  hand  with  an 
inimitable  gesture. 

"My  friends,"  said  he,  "the  noble  Marquis  Ana- 
tole  de  Lormes  has  so  well  illustrated  the  first  part 
of  my  thesis  that  I  have  not  a  word  to  add." 

George  Dodd  had  completely  turned  round  in  his 
chair  to  survey  his  brother,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
examines  a  totally  unknown  species  of  beast,  wonder 
for  the  moment  superseding  all  other  emotion  in  his 
mind. 

"Why,  the  little  cuss  is  n't  even  ashamed  of  him- 
self!" thought  he. 

"The  whole  business,"  said  the  Marquise,  some- 
what acidly,  "  has  been  grossly  exaggerated. " 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      159 

"Well,  now,"  said  the  undaunted  Doctor,  remov- 
ing his  napkin  from  under  his  chin  and  holding  it 
stretched  out  in  both  hands,  preliminary  to  a  final 
scrub  of  beard  and  moustache,  "  so  much  for  the 
upper  class  at  the  hour  of  test.  What  about  the 
lower?  If  the  aristocracy  is,  or  ought  to  be,  the 
head,  the  people  are,  or  ought  to  be,  the  heart. 
That 's  what  we  are  told.  What  about  the  people 
—  again  at  the  hour  of  test }  Take  the  foundering  of 
the  Bourgogne  ?  " 

Having  thrown  his  second  bomb  he  paused,  and 
proceeded  vigorously  with  the  napkin  operation. 

"That  was  another  bad  business,"  said  the  sailor, 
gravely. 

"The  Doctor  is  determined  not  to  spare  us  his 
diagnosis,"  said  Favereau,  with  a  rather  weary  smile. 

How  this  man's  heart  had  bled  for  his  France; 
how  ceaselessly  had  he  striven  to  work  at  the  task  of 
reparation,  of  uplifting.  How  hopelessly,  none 
would  ever  know  but  himself.  The  Doctor  was  a 
sanguine  man.  That  he  could  still  see  a  use  in 
such  indictments  was  because  he  yet  could  still 
hope.  Deep  in  a  sacred  silence,  Favereau,  the  de- 
voted servant  of  his  country,  had  hidden  the  fact  that 
he  had  no  illusions  left. 

"A  bad  business!"  cried  Lebel,  jovial  even  in  his 
indignation.  "  Les  deicx  font  la  paire!  The  two 
match  each  other. "  He  balanced  his  hands  expres- 
sively. "The  little  aristocrat  stamps  the  delicate 
fine  ladies  of  his  acquaintance  back  into  the  flames 
with  heel  and  cane;  and  your  rough,  honest  viatclot 


i6o      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

hits  the  drowning  women  and  children  on  the  head 
with  oars  as  they  would  cling  to  his  boat.  Yes,  they 
match  quite  nicely.  It  is  on  record,"  he  added, 
dropping  his  satiric  emphasis  for  a  perfectly  even 
voice,  "  that  neither  a  single  young  swell  was  shriv- 
elled in  the  flames,  nor  a  single  horny-handed  son- 
of-toil  perished  in  the  ocean  wave,  whatever  may 
have  happened  to  the  rest." 

"Ah,  you  forget,"  said  Helen,  earnestly,  "M.  de 
Rothschild's  groom " 

"English,  Madame  —  Anglo-Saxon!"  said  the 
Doctor,  laconically. 

The  Canon  folded  his  beautiful  hands  over  his 
finger-bowl.  He  had  bided  his  time,  but  now  he 
was  going  to  speak. 

"I  would  point  out  to  my  friend  the  Doctor,"  he 
began,  in  his  gentle  deliberate  voice,  "that  the  Mar- 
quis made  just  now  a  remark  pregnant  with  truth. 
In  a  word,  he  gave  the  reason  for  the  whole  deplor- 
able state  of  affairs.  Why,  said  he,  should  the  mate- 
rialist think  of  others?  Why,  indeed?  If  a  man 
does  not  believe  that  *  he  who  loses  his  life  shall 
gain  it,'  why  should  he  depart  from  the  common 
animal  instinct  of  self-preservation,  no  matter  at 
what  cost  to  others?  Alas,  if  our  France  is  ill,  is  it 
not  because  she  has  thrust  health  from  her,  the 
health  of  the  soul — religion?  Religion,  which 
made  the  heroines  and  martyrs  in  that  catastrophe 
we  have  just  spoken  of." 

There  was  a  moment  of  impressive  silence.  Every 
eye  was  turned  upon  the   Doctor.     Even  the  most 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       i6i 

sceptical  felt  that  the  Canon's  arguments  seemed  at 
least  supported  by  facts. 

The  Doctor,  however,  was  too  true  a  fighter  to  be 
otherwise  than  stimulated  by  a  direct  attack. 

"Aha,  I  expected  you  there,  my  friend,"  he  cried; 
"but  I  'm  ready  for  you,  I  'm  not  denying  that  reli- 
gion, as  a  human  institution,  is  a  remarkably  useful 
thing  for  the  morals  of  the  people.  But,  like  all 
other  human  institutions,  Canon,  I  '11  make  you 
observe  that  it  is  as  much  subject  to  the  nation's 
corruption  as  any  other.  Let  us  look  at  your  reli- 
gion in  France.  What  has  it  done  for  you.-*  Has  it 
upheld  justice?  How  have  you  good  priests  come 
out  of  the  Dreyfus  case.'*" 

Totol  again  gave  his  dismal  howl,  and  again  put 
his  fingers  in  his  ears.  Nessie  supported  him  with 
a  series  of  little  shrieks.  Even  the  Duke  and 
Favereau  raised  their  voices.  But  the  Doctor  had  a 
powerful  organ,  and  he  outbellowed  them  all. 

"What  about  your  holy  brothers  of  La  Croix? 
What  about  your  Christian  attitude  towards  the 
Jew.!"  What  doctrines  of  peace,  of  justice,  of  the 
charity  that  thinketh  no  evil,  have  been  preached  to 
the  most  ignorant  hamlets  in  the  country.?  Where 
would  the  priest  have  led  France  to-day }  " 

Every  question  was  emphasised  by  the  darting 
of  a  stubby  forefinger,  as  if  the  speaker  were 
thrusting  a  rapier  under  the  well-covered  ribs  of 
his  friend.  Helen  threw  towards  Cluny  a  look  of 
comical  despair.  The  inevitable  battle  began  in 
earnest. 


i62       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Without  any  further  loss  of  placidity,  without 
heeding  her  aunt's  shocked  gestures  of  utter  repro- 
bation, she  awaited  the  Canon's  defence  to  this  vio- 
lent counter  attack. 

"My  good  Doctor,"  he  began,  as  soon  as  he  could 
make  himself  heard,  and  his  placid,  well-bred  ac- 
cents were  in  marked  contrast  to  the  other's  broad 
vehemence,  "far  be  it  from  me  to  deny  that  injudi- 
cious things  have  been  said  and  pernicious  advice 
given  from  quarters  from  which  no  teaching  but  that 
of  the  Gospel  should  have  been  heard.  But  that, 
my  friend,  is  because,  if  the  teaching  is  Divine, 
the  ministry  of  the  church  is  yet  human,  and  errare 
humanum  est.  The  errors  of  humanity,  of  the  be- 
liever, of  the  priest,  do  not  affect  the  divinity  of  the 
principle,  any  more  than  the  corruptness  of  the  judge 
can  alter  the  inherent  quality  of  justice.  It  is  not 
for  me  to  pronounce  upon  my  colleagues  —  thank 
God !  I  do  not  either  impugn  or  defend  them.  All 
I  maintain  is  that  if  you  take  away  from  man  the 
belief  in  his  soul,  that  is,  in  his  ideal,  that  is,  in 
his  God,  you  take  away  from  him  all  motives  for 
righteousness.  Nay,  the  only  logical  conclusion, 
then,  is  that  of  Monsieur  le  Marquis  —  every  man 
for  himself." 

"There  you  are,"  cried  the  Doctor,  who,  finding 
himself  beaten  upon  the  frontal  attack,  with  the 
fighter's  instinct  nimbly  leaped  upon  another  breach. 
"  Listen  to  him :  '  it  is  not  for  me  to  pronounce  — 
thank  God  !  '  Even  you  —  even  he  "  —  appealing  to 
the  table  —  "  is  suffering  from  the  universal  disease. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       163 

There  is  not  one  of  you  who  can  face  the  truth.  The 
Duke  has  already  shown  that  he  cannot." 

Cluny  started.     The  Doctor  proceeded  inexorably. 

"Yes,  even  you,  Duke,  from  the  height  of  your 
chivalrous  honour,  all  you  can  find  for  your  unhappy 
country  is  contempt :  '  I  wash  my  hands  of  it.  These 
things  are  too  dirty  for  me  to  touch. '  " 

Cluny  smiled,  smiled  to  hide  a  horrible  return  of 
invading  misery  :  Alas,  his  chivalrous  honour  !  And 
that  girl' s  eyes  npon  him,  and  Helen  s  worshipping 
glance  ever  seeking  him  across  the  table. 

"  So  much  for  you, "  pursued  the  Doctor.  "  You  're 
one  type.  There  's  Monsieur  Favereau,  that  's  an- 
other. He  folds  himself  up  in  his  leaves;  you'll 
never  get  at  the  thought  of  him.  '  Respect  my 
silence,  respect  my  sorrow.'     Useful,  is  it  not.?  " 

Favereau  laughed  with  some  bitterness.  **  Wrong 
in  your  diagnosis  for  once,"  said  he,  drily.  "  I  take 
things  philosophically,  my  good  Esculapius. " 

"But  surely.  Doctor,"  said  Dodd,  in  his  sound,  if 
rather  laboured  French,  "  if  a  man  cannot  help  his 
country  by  speaking,  the  best  he  can  do  is  to  keep 
silence." 

"  But  cannot  every  man  help  his  country  by  speak- 
ing?" inquired  the  Doctor,  explosively.  "What 
help  is  there  for  a  nation  if  all  its  honest  men  pre- 
serve the  policy  of  dignified  silence,  and  so  leave  the 
rogues,  the  cranks,  and  the  decadents  to  speak  for 
her,  to  rule  her.?  What  is  to  become  of  a  country 
that  has  no  moral  courage  ?  " 

"For  me,"  declared   Madame  de  Lormes,  in  the 


i64      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

tone  of  one  putting  an  end  to  a  discussion,  "I  am 
amazed  at  the  patience  with  which  you  all  listen  to 
Monsieur  le  Docteur.  I  should  call  that  man  a  bad 
patriot  who  takes  part  with  the  enemies  of  his 
fatherland." 

Dr.  Lebel  looked  at  her  with  his  jaw  on  one  side 
and  much  humour  in  his  eye. 

"Third  type,"  said  he,  quietly;  "Madame  la 
Marquise  represents  the  class  of  the  wilfully  blind. 
'It  is  impossible  that  our  army  should  go  wrong; 
it  is  impossible  that  so  holy  a  paper  as  La  Croix 
should  mislead  us.'  But  your  generals  have  ad- 
mitted forgery,  fear  of  the  enemy,  false  witness." 
Then,  drawing  himself  together  and  answering 
himself  with  an  air  of  great  dignity,  unconsciously 
mimicking  the  Marquise's  manner:  "'Monsieur,  if 
our  generals  committed  forgery,  it  was  from  the 
noblest  of  motives. '  — '  And  La  Croix,  Madame } 
That  rag  that  you,  an  intelligent  woman,  know 
to  be  propagating  lies  under  the  cloak  of  the 
monk,  lies  that  would  plunge  this  country  into 
a  war  for  which  we  were  never  worse  prepared,  pro- 
vided that  such  a  war  secured  the  overthrow  of  the 
government. '  " 

"Sir,"  interrupted  the  Marquise,  tartly,  opening 
her  eyes  to  throw  a  severe  glance  at  the  speaker,  "  it 
is  not  from  you,  free-thinker,  that  I  should  expect 
justice  towards  ministers  of  my  holy  religion." 

"I  am  answered,"  said  the  Doctor,  irrepressibly. 

"It  is  strange  to  me,"  said  the  sailor,  who  had 
been  following  this    unexpected    indictment  of  his 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       165 

host's  own  country  with  great  interest,  "that  such  a 
state  of  things  as  you  describe  can  co-exist  with 
such  marvellous  prosperity,  such  scientific  advance, 
as  I  have  seen  manifested  since  my  return  to  Paris, 
which  struck  even  me,  a  member  of  the  richest,  of 
the  most  scientific  country  in  the  world." 

"My  young  friend,"  said  the  Doctor,  and  planted 
his  forefinger  on  the  table,  "  you  have  hit  it.  France 
is  prosperous,  extraordinarily  prosperous,  but  it  is 
only  material  prosperity,  and  every  Spartan  virtue  is 
dying  out.  Is  it  because  of  her  very  riches.''  I 
know  not.  Will  our  wealth  yet  help  us  out  of  our 
ditch  .^  I  know  not.  Riches,  when  used  for  patriot- 
ism, as,  by  the  way,  England  is  using  hers  just 
now " 

"  I  felt,"  said  Madame  de  Lormes,  audibly  enough 
to  the  Duke,  "  that  Monsieur  Lebel  would  come  to 
taking  the  part  of  our  enemies." 

But  the  Doctor  proceeded  without  heeding.  "  But 
our  science.  Ah,  young  man,  there  is  the  salvation 
of  our  country,  there  alone  do  I  see  hope  ahead ! 
Science  is  great  in  France.  Literature  is  debased, 
art  is  debased,  the  army  is  corrupt,  politics  are  a 
sink,  religion  is  not  a  guide  but  a  tool.  Science 
we  have  yet." 

"What,"  said  the  Canon,  in  a  loud  voice,  "is  that 
all  we  have  to  hope  in  ?  Then  it  is  indeed  unhappy 
France ! " 

"Oh,  Doctor,"  exclaimed  Helen,  "you  know  as 
well  as  I  do  how  much  good  there  is  about  us,  even 
in  this  little  corner  of  the  world.     How  simple  and 


i66       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

brave  and  pious  and  charitable  is  our  poor  peasantry, 
how  devoted  their  doctor,  what  an  apostle  their 
priest!" 

The  Doctor  turned  his  eyes  upon  her  and  the  light 
of  battle  went  out  of  them,  to  be  replaced  by  an 
extraordinary  tenderness. 

"Ah,  Madame,"  he  cried,  "have  I  not  already  said 
that  there  are  still  good  women?  " 

"And  good  men!"  cried  the  Duchess,  gaily. 
"Cluny,  we  have  heard  enough  pessimism  this  even- 
ing :  speak  for  your  beautiful  France.     Speak  ! " 

The  Duke's  blood  rose  at  the  call.  Speak  for 
France!  Who  could  do  it  better  than  he.?  Who 
could  love  his  France  better  than  he.?  Not  indeed 
the  France  of  a  corrupt  self-seeking  oligarchy,  nor 
yet  the  France  of  advanced  thought  and  far-seeing 
science,  but  the  France  of  the  old  traditions,  the 
nation  of  all  wit,  of  all  elegance,  of  chivalry,  of 
refinement  1  France  of  the  gentilhomme,  who  did 
brave  deeds  with  a  jest;  who  bragged  not,  but  did. 
In  the  return  of  this  royal  France  it  was  part  of  his 
creed  to  believe,  to  believe  that  when  her  hour 
struck  from  all  over  the  fair  country,  his  compeers 
would  arise  to  uphold  her  and  take  their  rightful  place 
again  by  throne  and  fleur-de-lys.  Words  crowded 
to  his  tongue,  fire  sprang  into  his  eyes.  .  .  .  Then, 
even  as  he  opened  his  mouth,  he  felt  upon  him  the 
gaze  of  Joy.  A  cold  sweat  broke  upon  him;  he 
paused  as  if  paralysed.  After  a  moment's  painful 
silence,  with  a  second  revulsion  the  blood  rushed  to 
his  face  again. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       167 

"  Speak  for  France !  "  he  cried,  with  sudden  anger, 
flinging  his  napkin  on  the  floor;  "I,  speak  for 
France !  "  The  bitterest  laughter  rose  to  his  lips 
from  the  bottom  of  his  sore  heart.  "What  have  I 
to  say?     Lebel  is  right.     We  are  a  worthless  race." 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

SAPERLIPOPETTE !  "  said  the  Doctor,  genu- 
inely disconcerted  by  this  unexpected  con- 
version to  his  views. 

The  colour  had  faded  from  Helen's  face  as  she  rose 
and  broke  up  the  circle.  Anxiously  her  eyes  sought 
to  meet  her  husband's,  but  in  vain.  Many  times 
had  Cluny  listened  to  the  diatribes  of  the  country 
doctor,  without  manifesting  any  other  emotion  than 
gentle  laughter.  Many  times  indeed  had  he,  boyishly 
mischievous,  deliberately  started  the  friendly  antago- 
nists upon  one  of  their  heated  discussions. 

But  the  Doctor  had  been  unpardonable  to-night. 
Evidently  Cluny's  endurance  had  its  limits;  even 
she,  she  told  herself  rebukingly,  had  not  sounded  all 
the  depth,  all  the  refinement  of  that  rare  nature. 

"  Lebel  was  really  beyond  everything  just  now," 
said  she  to  the  Canon,  as  they  ceremoniously  returned 
to  the  drawing-room. 

"  Alas,  Madame,"  said  the  Canon,  wistfully,  "one 
must  pardon  all  the  same.  Poor  fellow,  he  knows 
not  what  he  says." 

A  chill  had  fallen  over  them  all  —  a  chill  which 
became  accentuated  on  their  return  to  the  library. 
Helen,  yearning  to  have  her  arm  round  her  husband 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       169 

and  lay  tender  fingers  upon  that  hidden  sore  place 
she  felt  within  him,  had  lost  for  the  moment  her 
usual  power  of  drawing  her  guests  into  comfort  and 
sympathy.  Thus,  after  half  an  hour's  ungenial, 
disjointed  conversation,  every  one  was  glad  to  hear 
Madame  de  Lormes  announce  her  intention  of  con- 
veying her  exhausted  body  and  her  sorely  tried  soul 
to  retirement  for  the  night. 

Upon  this  relief  Totol  skipped  off  with  Nessie  to 
the  billiard-room. 

Then  the  Canon  faded  out  of  the  company :  it 
was  his  hour  for  the  night  visit  to  the  chapel.  And 
the  Doctor,  after  several  noisy  yawns,  declared  his 
intention  of  trotting  home  as  soon  as  he  had  had  a 
last  glance  at  his  patient.  Rose. 

Helen  was  suddenly  struck  by  the  v/anness  of 
Joy's  face. 

"  Say  good-night,  my  dear,"  said  she,  after  kissing 
her  on  the  forehead.  "  I  shall  take  a  peep  in  at  you 
by-and-bye." 

"  Good-night,"  said  the  girl,  passively.  Then  she 
paused  a  second;  the  sailor  was  next  to  her. 

"  Good-night,  Miss  Joy,"  said  he  heartily,  and 
extended  his  hand. 

After  a  second's  pause  she  slid  her  fingers  into  it, 
and  felt  them  engulfed  in  a  warm,  close,  protecting 
clasp.  His  eyes  were  vainly  seeking  hers.  "  What 
an  ugly  great  hand,"  she  thought. 

"  Good-night,  Sir,"  said  she  to  the  Duke.  And 
within  herself:  "  And  you,  I  love  you,  and  now  I  shall 
again  touch  your  hand.^* 


I/O      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Cluny  was  struggling  with  an  absolutely  physical 
repulsion. 

In  this  moment  of  hardly  perceptible  hesitation, 
Favereau,  the  ever-watchful,  stepped  quite  naturally 
between  him  and  the  girl. 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  wish  you  a  very  good  night," 
he  said  in  a  tone  that  was  admirably  balanced  between 
the  paternal  and  the  ceremonious. 

She  shrank  in  her  turn,  but  could  not  avoid  sub- 
mitting to  his  handshake,  which  was  at  the  same  time 
so  manoeuvred  as  to  dismiss  her  from  the  room. 

"  That  horrid  old  man.  That  bad  old  man  I  Hotv 
I  hate  him  !  "  she  said  to  herself  all  the  way  up  the 
stairs. 

When  in  the  smoking-room  the  Duke  sank  into 
his  chair  behind  his  cigar  the  strain  of  pretence  was 
at  length  relaxed,  and  —  for  life  is  full  of  these  ironical 
compensations  —  he  welcomed  the  moment  when  he 
could  give  way  and  listen  to  his  own  pain. 

Neither  Favereau  nor  Dodd,  likewise  extended  on 
their  lounges,  seemed  disposed  to  make  any  tax  on 
his  powers  of  entertainment.  Silence  therefore  reigned 
in  the  room,  a  silence  grateful  to  each  in  his  own  mood, 
broken  only  on  occasions  by  the  distant  click  of  balls 
in  the  billiard-room  beyond  or  a  faint  squeal  from 
either  or  both  of  the  light-hearted  players. 

At  first  Cluny  smoked  mechanically.  Fragments 
of  the  evening  conversation,  echoes  of  the  Doctor's 
rough  voice,  mingled  with  the  turmoil  of  his  thoughts 
—  thoughts  by  turns  self-accusing  and  self-exculpating. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       171 

By-and-bye  the  red  glow  died  away  on  _the  brown 
leaf,  his  hands  dropped  inertly  on  the  long  cushioned 
arms. 


A  worthless  race !  *  Even  yoji,  even  you,  Duke, 
from  the  height  of  your  delicate  hotiour  —  unhappy 
France  I '     Utihappy  France,  indeed  I 

Was  Lebel  right  1  Was  decay  in  their  very  blood ! 
His  delicate  honour  !  '  Oh,  these  things  are  too  dirty 
for  7ne  to  touch!'  God  help  us!  What!  This  affair 
where  men,  his  countrymen,  had  lied  for  a  good  end — 
for  a  good  end  no  doubt,  as  they  thought —  his  '  honour' 
had  been  too  delicate  even  to  speak  of  it.  And  yet  how 
was  he  better  to-day  than  the  false  witness,  than  the 
men  who  forged  ^  for  a  good  purpose,'  as  they  said? 
A7id  Favereau,  the  uprigJit,  the  benevolent,  he  had  lied 
too  —  nay,  had  suggested  the  lie,  for  a  good  purpose  — 
oh,  for  a  good  prirpose  !  '  The  aristocrat  thrusts  the 
delicate  fine  lady  with  heel  and  cane  back  into  the 
flames.  The  ho?iest  sailor  clubs  the  drowjiitig  woman, 
the  child,  back  into  the  water  with  his  oar!  Why  ? 
Totol gave  the  reason.  '  To  save  themselves ,  pardieu  ! ' 
Helen  had  cried,  *  If  my  Cluny  had  been  there  ! '  Oh, 
God!  oh,  God!  oh,  God! — oh,  devil!  Her  Cluny! 
'  You  are  brave  geittlemeti !  Two  men  against  a  girl! 
Brave  f  Aye, '  take  them  at  the  test,  neither  moral  nor 
physical  courage!  What  had  he,  the  man  of  delicate 
hojiour,  done  with  the  woman  —  the  child?  Into  what 
flames  had  he  not  thrust  her,  back  into  what  waters  of 
perdition  and  of  despair  ?    And  why,  why,  why  ?  Totol 


172       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

had  screeched  the  infamous  reason  for  him  :  '  To  save 
himself ^  par dieu  !^  Himself?  All,  no,  not  that!  To 
save  her,  to  save  Helen  ! 


The  man's  whole  soul  surged  on  the  tide  of 
passionate  tenderness  towards  his  wife.  The  vision 
of  Helen,  pure,  simple,  loving,  rose  before  his  mind, 
the  most  beautiful  image  of  peace,  of  healing,  sur- 
rounded with  the  perfume  of  all  womanliness,  all 
loveableness. 

For  a  moment  he  saw  himself  on  his  knees,  his 
head  upon  her  lap,  and  he  pictured  to  himself  his 
own  rapture  of  relief  in  confiding  his  trouble  to  her. 
Had  she  not  always  soothed  away  his  difficulties? 
Had  she  not  always  understood  him  as  nobody  else 
ever  did?  Then  his  own  cry  to  Favereau  came  back 
to  him  like  the  howl  of  the  lost  soul.  No,  Helen 
could  not  understand  !  She  is  not  one  of  those  women 
that  could  understand.  Oh,  less  than  ever  now  !  If 
at  one  moment  he  had  a  chance  of  redemption,  now 
it  was  gone.  Yes,  Favereau  had  shown  him  the  right 
road.  Both  had  quailed  from  its  steepness,  but  now 
they  had  wilfully  entered  on  the  descent,  and  the 
mire  of  it  could  never  be  brushed  from  their 
garments. 


Luxuriously  outstretched  in  his  great  leather  arm- 
chair, George  Dodd,  delightfully  at  ease  both  morally 
and   physically,    his   square   head   thrown  back,  his 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD  173 

sea-blue  eyes  watching  vaguely  the  opalescent  spirals 
of  a  choice  Havana's  vanishing  life,  George  Dodd 
was  seeing  strange  visions  in  the  smoke. 

Why,  the  little  creature  lias  bewitched  me!  Who 
would  have  thought  it? 

It  was  a  revelation.  There  was  humour  also  in 
the  situation.  He  felt  a  vast  astonishment  at  himself, 
but  withal  an  extraordinary  warm  expansion. 

/  could  crush  her  with  one  hand,  and  yet  the  little 
thing  —  one  of  those  glances  of  hers,  where  the  shy 
woman  peeps  from  inside  the  heart  of  the  child — makes 
me  feel  downright  silly.  George  P.  Dodd,  what's 
come  to  you  ?  You  always  said  the  sea  would  be  your 
only  mistress,  your  only  bride.  What,  anyJiow,  has  a 
sailor  to  do  with  a  wife  ?  .  .  .  Unless  she  had  eyes 
like  that,  and  baby-hair 

At  this  point  there  suddenly  rose  before  his  eyes 
a  picture  of  a  small  face,  half  child's,  half  woman's, 
under  a  bridal  veil,  and  his  strong  heart  began  to 
thump. 

Dm  bewitched,  and — well,  what  in  the  wide  world 
is  to  hinder  me,  if  I  choose  ?  Mighty  Neptune!  I 
believe  Vd  rather  to-night  kiss  that  little  creature  on 
the  lips  than  sink  the  ^  Merrimac'  In  a  bad  way, 
George,  my  boy! 

A  smile,  however,  hovered  on  the  sailor's  face. 
While  he  tried  mentally  to  shake  his  head  at  himself, 
the  deep  delight  evoked  by  the  mere  lover's  dream 
invaded  his  whole  being. 

As  Favereau  mechanically  smoked   one  cigarette 


174      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

after  another  and  reviewed  the  events  of  the  night 
in  his  clean  orderly  mind,  he  was  conscious,  with 
that  precision  which  accompanied  all  its  operations, 
that  this  evening's  work  had  brought  him  to  a  critical 
epoch  in  his  life. 

For  years  he  had  thought  himself  finally  shorn  of 
all  illusions,  for  years  he  had  looked  upon  life  as 
an  observer:  emotions,  whether  pleasurable  or  the 
reverse,  being  to  him  merely  objective.  Life,  he  had 
believed,  had  ceased  to  have  a  personal  meaning  to 
him  from  the  day  when  he  had  definitely  given  up  all 
hope  of  those  things  that  go  to  make  a  man's  life  — 
love,  marriage,  paternity.  His  work  he  gave  to  his 
country,  not  with  any  personal  ambition,  not  even 
with  any  hope  of  lasting  influence,  but  from  the  same 
sense  of  duty  which  ruled  the  rest  of  his  actions  — 
the  duty  of  acting  the  part  of  an  honest  man  while 
he  still  cumbered  the  earth. 

Yet  to-night  he  found  himself  separated  by  a  gulf 
from  the  moral  standpoint  of  this  morning.  And, 
by  the  pain  he  felt  in  the  sense  of  loss,  he  realised 
now  many  illusions  he  had  still  unconsciously  held, 
recognised  how  impossible  it  is  for  man  to  avoid  his 
personal  share  in  others'  existence,  in  others'  respon- 
sibilities, A  profound  conviction  of  the  sorrow  of 
the  world  had  ever  been  with  him,  yet  he  had  flattered 
himself  to  be  able  to  pass  through  this  wretched 
masquerade  they  call  life,  not  "  gravely,"  as  a  certain 
thinker  advises  us,  but  as  that  highest  type  of  philoso- 
pher, the  true  humourist.  To-night,  however,  his 
whole  system  was  crumbling  around  him.     He  had 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      175 

laid  his  foundations  upon  the  certitude  of  his  own 
moral  strength,  of  his  own  personal  worth.  To  him 
also  the  Doctor's  words  recurred  as  an  echo  :  "  Take 
them  at  the  test,  they  fail! '^  In  a  larger  spirit  than 
that  of  his  unhappy  accomplice,  and  from  a  different 
standpoint,  he  viewed  his  own  fall  as  part  of  the 
miserable  inheritance  of  humanity,  accepted  it  with- 
out a  moment's  weakening,  even  without  remorse. 
But  he  was  sad,  sad  to  the  soul. 


The  chance  of  keeping  that  horror  of  disillusion  from 
Helen  ?  It  was  worth  it.  I  would  do  it  again  for 
that.  Poor  Helen  —  my  beautiful  Helen  I  And  /,  who 
thongJit  that  I  could  direct  her  fate,  thought  that  the 
greatness  of  my  sacrifice  must  secure  her  happijiess  ! 
'  What  man  could  keep  himself,  year  in  year  out, 
on  Helen's  level  ? '  Thus  her  husband  —  the  husband 
I  gave  her  !  Whatman?  I  could  have  do7ie  it  —  I! 
and  he  could  not.  I  knew  how  to  love  her.  She  loved 
me  always  as  a  child  does.  I  could  have  taught  her  to 
love  me  as  a  woman.  What  devil  inspired  me  ?  I 
thought  it  was  the  twice  of  God,  the  voice  of  right,  just 
because  it  was  so  hard.  Monstrous  selfishness,  a  crime, 
to  unite  my  staid  manhood  to  her  bright  youth  I  Oh, 
miserable  world;  oh,  unhappy,  groping  humanity! 
Our  greatest  sacrifices  are  almost  ever  our  greatest 
mistakes.  Where  is  God  in  all  this  f  Where  is  right  ? 
And  yet —  and  yet !  What  luas  it  Cluny  said  ?  Could 
I,  could  any  other  man  but  this  Cluny  himself,  have 
given  to  that  womaji'  s  face  her  aureole  of  joy  ?     Youth 


176       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

calls  to  youth,  bea?{ty  to  beauty,  brilliancy  to  brilliancy. 
Had  she  been  mine  the poignaiicy  of  anguish  which  7iow 
threatens  her  soul  could  never  have  reached  her  —  it 
never  would:  but  neither  could  have  reached  her  that 
poignancy  of  bliss!  He  stroked  his  grey  beard  with  a 
steady  hand.  To-nigJit  hoiv  beautiful  she  looked! 
Oh,  it  shall  not  all  be  lost !  Helen,  if  there  be  a 
ministering  God,  and  I  must  lose  my  soul  for  it,  you  at 
least  shall  keep  your  earthly  paradise  ! 


He  flung  his  final  cigarette  into  the  dish,  and 
looked  at  Cluny,  whose  face  was  now  compressed 
into  lines  of  pain,  whose  eyes  were  closed.  He  rose 
from  his  chair,  went  over  to  his  friend,  laid  a  kind 
hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  said  in  his  ear: 

"  Cluny,  it  is  getting  late.  Helen  will  be  waiting 
for  you." 

Cluny  looked  up.  And  astonishment  first,  then 
a  wistful  incredulous  questioning,  came  hungrily  into 
his  eyes. 

"  Go  to  her,"  repeated  Favereau,  and  paused. 
"  My  God,  man,"  he  went  on  in  a  passionate  whis- 
per, "have  you  not  got  the  present  still?  He  who 
knows  how  to  hold  the  present  must  not  fear  the 
future.     Go !  " 

Cluny  sprang  to  his  feet  like  one  recalled  to  life. 
His  was  a  nature  that  must  utterly  despond  or 
buoyantly  hope;  but  too  eagerly  will  such  natures 
seize  upon  hope  again.  He  wrung  Favereau's  hands. 
"  God  bless  you,"  said  he.     "  What  should   I  have 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       177 

done  without  you?     Ah,  Favereau,  if  we  get  out  of 
this,  I  shall  be  a  very  dififerent  man." 

Favereau  looked  after  him  as  he  hurried  from  the 
room,  forgetting  even  to  bestow  a  good-night  word 
upon  the  dreaming  Dodd  still  sunk  in  his  armchair; 
there  was  no  lightening  of  the  melancholy  eyes. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

HELEN  gently  turned  the  handle  of  the  door 
and    peeped    in.     The    small    lamp   was   still 
glowing  under  its  pink  shade  over  the  girl's 
bed,  but  Joy  was  asleep. 

The  Duchess  crept  softly  to  her  side  and  looked 
down.  So  strong  was  the  mother  instinct  in  this 
childless  woman's  heart  that  she,  who  had  never 
tasted  the  delight  of  the  "  good-night "  nursery  visit, 
who  had  never  known  the  stealthy  gloating  over  one's 
treasure  —  one's  very  own! — who  had  never  known 
the  rush  of  protecting  tenderness  over  the  helpless 
being  that  owes  one  the  very  breath  of  life,  felt 
something  of  the  sweet  pain  of  all  these  emotions 
stir  her  heart  over  the  child  of  her  adoption.  Here 
at  last  was  a  child :  and  she,  who  had  been  cheated 
of  motherhood's  first  joys,  was  now  pleased  to  cheat 
herself  with  the  fancy  that  she  could  still  trace  some 
baby  graces  in  her  foundling.  Childish  enough  looked 
the  sleeping  face  in  its  soft  relaxation ;  childish  the 
aureole  of  curling  hair,  as  pale  as  morning  sunshine 
and  as  fine  as  gossamer  threads;  childishly  pouted 
the  lips  and  childishly  lay  the  small,  curved  hands, 
one  flung  outside  the  pink  coverlet,  the  other  curling 
up  to  the  mouth.  Just  so  Helen  had  seen  many  a 
peasant  child  lie  in  its  wooden  cot. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       179 

Ah  !  —  she  bent  closer —  what  a  sobbing  sigh  !  The 
little  one  had  been  weeping :  the  long  lashes  were  still 
matted  and  wet  with  tears  !  Yet  it  was  only  as  a  child 
may  cry,  for  now  in  her  sleep  she  smiled  and — what 
was  this  ?  Shining  between  her  fingers  was  the  string 
of  pearls :  Joy  had  fallen  asleep  holding  them  to  her 
lips. 

Helen's  heart  melted  altogether  within  her.  In  her 
loneliness,  her  strangeness,  her  fatigue  and  excite- 
ment, this  poor  child  had  turned  for  consolation  to 
the  only  thing  that  had  come  to  her  from  her  mother 
—  "  from  one  who  loved  her  !  " 

"What  do  you  know  of  my  mother,  Madame?" 
That  had  been  that  first  question  she  had  asked  when 
they  had  found  themselves  alone  together,  Alas ! 
what  could  Helen  tell  that  innocence  about  her 
mother? 

"  She  is  dead.  She  loved  you.  She  wished  me  to 
have  you,"  had  been  the  hesitating  answer.  The  girl 
had  given  her  a  quick,  strange  look,  and  had  fallen 
back  into  her  shy  silence. 

The  thought  of  the  poor  mother  and  of  her  sacri- 
fice, the  pity  of  it,  brought  the  tears  to  Helen's  eyes. 
Then,  after  her  fashion  of  carrying  everything  beyond 
the  world,  she  prayed  God  to  help  her  to  be  a  faith- 
ful mother  to  His  forlorn  creature ;  she  prayed  for  a 
blessing  upon  her  new  duties,  and  most  earnestly  for 
one  upon  the  young  creature. 

"  Oh,  my  God,"  she  said,  "  let  these  be  the  last  tears 
of  sorrow  that  she  may  shed  in  this  house  !  " 


i8o      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

As  Helen  re-entered  her  own  sitting-room,  she 
found  her  husband  seated  by  the  wood  fire.  He 
looked  up  and  his  face  became  softened  with  that 
look  of  love  and  admiration  so  long  known,  yet  as 
ever  dearly  prized  by  her  —  that  look  which,  after 
fourteen  years,  had  still  the  power  of  making  her 
heart  flutter  like  that  of  a  happy  girl. 

"  I  have  just  been  looking  at  the  child  ;  she  is 
asleep."  And,  as  she  spoke  the  words,  the  thought 
of  the  ineffable  joy  it  would  have  been  to  look  at  a 
child  of  his  and  hers  struck  her  to  the  heart  like  a 
dagger  stab.  But  in  the  very  grip  of  her  own  pain 
she  noticed  how  his  face  changed.  In  an  instant 
she  was  on  her  knees  beside  him,  her  arms  round 
his  neck.  "  But  we  are  very  happy,  Cluny,  are 
we  not?" 

He  caught  her  to  him  with  the  same  extraordinary 
passion  he  had  already  shown  that  evening.  She 
disengaged  herself  to  look  into  his  face,  her  hands 
pressed  against  his  shoulders.  The  loose  sleeves  of 
her  dressing-gown  fell  back  from  her  white  arms. 

Beautiful !  Oh,  she  was  that  indeed  !  thought  the 
man,  as  he  contemplated  her.  But  it  was  not  for 
her  beauty  alone  he  now  loved  her  as  he  did  —  his 
Helen  ! 

He  clasped  his  feverish  hands  round  her  wrists, 
and  madly  kissed  the  lovely  arm  up  to  the  soft  curve 
of  the  elbow. 

"  My  saint,  my  love,  my  wife  ! "  cried  he,  almost 
beside  himself. 

Through    his    ardour,   the    sense   of    the    trouble 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       i8i 

seething   within   him    betrayed    itself    to    her   quick 
feminine  perception.     She  began  to  tremble. 

"  Cluny,  what  is  it?  Tell  me.  You  are  not  your- 
self, you  have  not  been  yourself  this  evening." 

"Have  I  not?"  said  he,  and  devoured  her  lovely 
face  with  his  piteous  eyes.  "  Forgive  me,  my 
beloved." 

Again  she  put  her  arms  about  him,  and  drew  his 
head  with  her  maternal  gesture  to  beautiful  rest  on 
her  bosom. 

"  Do  not  speak,"  said  she,  "  I  think  I  know." 
The  echo  of  many  tears  had  come  into  her  voice. 
She  paused  for  a  moment.  "  You  have  never  let  me 
guess  it,"  she  said  at  last,  "  till  to-night.  But  you, 
too,  have  mourned  for  our  silent  house,  for  our  love 
that  has  been  so  perfect,  so  great,  yet  has  had  to 
remain  so  sterile." 

He  interrupted  her  with  broken  words,  not  daring 
to  lift  his  head  from  her  confiding  breast.  "  His 
happiness,"  he  murmured,  "  required  nothing  more. 
He  had  never  felt  the  want  of  children,  so  long  as 
he  had  her.  She  was  his  all  so  long  as  he  kept 
her.  .  .  ." 

She  smiled  as  she  answered,  but  he  felt  only  how 
her  bosom  heaved. 

"You  are  too  good  to  me,  love.  Indeed,  I  have 
been  too  happy.  No,  no,  do  not  call  me  a  saint ! 
'Tis  so  easy  to  help  others  a  little.  And  you  know, 
Cluny,  you  know,  I  try  to  be  good ;  I  am  afraid  of 
the  judgments  of  God.  You  all  talk  of  my  charity, 
my  piety.     It's  not  true,  it's  all  cowardice.     I  want, 


i82       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

so  to  speak,  to  bribe  the  Almighty  into  leaving  me 
my  happiness.     Oh,  I  feel  such  terror  sometimes  ! " 

Her  voice  came  more  faintly.  The  man  tight- 
ened his  grasp  of  her  and  lifted  his  head.  Their 
eyes  sought  each  other's  almost  like  two  frightened 
children's. 

"  Oh,  Cluny,"  she  cried,  "  do  you  ever  feel  afraid, 
too?" 

•'  My  God,  yes  !  " 

"  Ah,  darling  !  "  It  was  a  great  cry  :  all  the  joy, 
the  pride  of  the  woman  loved,  rang  in  it. 

After  a  pause,  during  which  the  warm  comfort  of 
her  presence,  the  magic  of  her  beauty,  the  intoxica- 
tion of  his  love,  began  to  invade  the  man's  whole 
being,  she  suddenly  rose  to  her  feet  Unconsciously 
triumphant  in  her  loveliness  she  stood,  looking  down 
at  him,  half  shyly,  half  victoriously.  The  long  ropes 
of  her  hair,  unpinned  but  not  yet  untwisted,  fell  on 
either  side  of  her  shoulders  to  her  knees.  The  pillar 
of  her  throat  rose  proudly.  The  firm  sweep  of  her 
bosom  showed  superb  under  the  folds  of  lace. 
Through  drooping  lids  her  sweet  eyes  caressed  him, 
her  teeth  gleamed  between  lips  parted  for  a  little 
happy  laugh. 

"  Since  inon  seigneur^'  she  said,  "  still  loves  his  old 
wife,  after  all,  why  should  either  he  or  I  fear?" 

And  Favereau's  words  once  more  echoed  in  Cluny's 
ear: 

"  You  have  the  present  still,  man.  He  who  knows 
how  to  hold  tJie  present  must  not  fear  tJie  futurey 


BOOK  III.  — A    WEEK  LATER 

"  And  thy  life  shall  hang  in  doubt  before  thee,  and  thou 
shall  fear  day  afid  flight.  .  .  .  In  the  morning  thou  shall 
say,  would  God  it  were  even!  A?id  at  even  thou  shall  say, 
would  God  it  were  jnornin^f" — Deuteronomy. 


CHAPTER   XX 

THE  lower  terrace  walk  beneath  the  sun- 
warmed  crumbling  wall,  against  which 
the  apricots  merged  from  green  immatur- 
ity to  red  and  yellow  pulpiness ;  where 
well-nigh  all  the  year  round  the  bees 
hummed  over  the  old-fashioned  thyme  and  balm- 
mint  beds ;  where  it  was  a  black  day  indeed  if  there 
was  not  at  least  a  few  rays  of  sunshine  to  be 
trapped  —  this  was  the  Canon's  favourite  walk.  And 
here  at  certain  hours,  changing  according  to  the 
seasons,  he  was  wont  to  read  his  breviary;  wont 
also,  on  rare  occasions,  to  grant  himself  a  delightful 
snatch  of  leisure  over  some  well-worn  little  ivory- 
yellow  volume  —  "  Virgil's  Georgics,"  from  the  founts 
of  Aldus  Manutius,  it  might  be.  Balmy-scented, 
sun-kissed  were  these  moments  of  self-indulgence, 
sung  to  by  the  humming  of  those  bees  that  Virgil 
loved,  shot  through  with  a  pipe  of  birds,  woven  in 
with  colour  and  shadow. 

These  sheltered  twenty  yards  of  homely  garden 
beauty  (so  different  from  the  almost  royal  pleasure- 
grounds   originally   laid   out    by   the   pompous    Le 


i86       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

N6tre)  were  therefore  known  as  "  the  Canon's  walk." 
And  "  the  Canon's  hour,"  understood  to  be  piously- 
devoted  to  the  breviary,  was  respected  by  all  the 
inhabitants  of  Luciennes  down  to  the  smallest  blouse 
in  the  garden.  So  much  so,  indeed,  that  the  good 
priest  was  not  without  some  twinges  of  conscience 
on  the  occasions  above  mentioned,  when  (the  spirit 
of  Maro  irresistibly  alluring  him  to  commune  through 
flower  and  sunshine  and  wing-murmurs)  he  had 
yielded,  and  lingered  in  his  retreat  beyond  the 
appointed  limit.  Nay,  there  had  been  days  when 
the  crime  of  having  hurried  ever  so  little  over 
the  breviary  in  order  to  dally  with  the  fascinating 
pagan  had  actually  lain  heavy  on  his  soul ! 

On  this  morning,  though  the  autumn  had  advanced 
by  yet  another  week  since  the  radiant  afternoon 
when  the  guests  had  arrived  at  Luciennes;  though 
red  and  yellow  leaves  played  the  part  of  ruddy  ghosts 
of  long-eaten  apricots  against  the  wall ;  though  in 
the  wild  balsam  beds,  under  the  shelter  of  the  wall's 
shadow,  heavy  beads  of  dew  still  marked  the  passage 
of  last  night's  frost,  so  much  summer  lingered  in  this 
happy  spot  that  the  Canon,  with  half  his  prayers  still 
unread,  had  lapsed  by  almost  imperceptible  degrees 
into  his  favourite  corner  on  the  ancient  stone  bench. 
It  was  quite  warm  in  the  sun ;  the  bees  were  very 
melodious,  the  smell  of  the  herbs  heavy  sweet.  The 
very  amiable  little  devil  that  had  charge  of  the 
Canon's  weaknesses  found  his  task  unwontedly  easy. 
Somehow  the  breviary  slipped  from  the  Canon's 
knees. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       187 

The  Canon  knew  the  words  by  heart ;  he  went  on 
murmuring,  in  tune  with  the  rusthng  leaves  — 

"  Spiritus  enim  meus  super  mel  dulcis ;  et 
hereditas  mea  super  mel  et  favum. 
Alleluia,  alleluia." 

And  away  floated  the  soul  of  the  Canon  on  the  wings 
of  bees  and  breeze. 

"  Sweeter  than  honey  and  the  honeycomb.     How 

beautiful !  "    he    thought ;     and   while    his    delicate 

scholarly  mind  moved  in  harmony  with  his   thankful 

heart,  his  eyes  were  lost  in  the  blue  of  a  happy  sky. 

But  — 

"  Hinc  ubi  jam  emissum  caveis  ad  sidera  coeli 
Nare  per  asstatem  liquidam  suspexeris  agmen  .  .   . 
Contemplator," 

whispered  the  imp  in  his  ear.  Back  came  the  Canon's 
soul  from  the  realms  of  spiritual  sweetness  to  a 
charming  pagan  earth,  astir  with  the  humming  of 
Virgil's  honey  seekers. 

In  some  most  extraordinary  manner  the  little  vel- 
lum Aldine  (heathen  from  titlepage  to  colophon) 
now  lay  upon  his  knee  !  It  opened  slowly,  quite  of 
its  own  accord,  like  a  flower  unfolded  to  the  sun,  at 
the  vfery  passage  —  that  favourite  page  of  the  Canon's, 
upon  which  the  set  of  the  print  on  the  yellowing 
paper,  the  harmonious  proportions  of  word  and  line, 
the  shapely  Petrarcan  lettering,  were  dear  to  him  as 
the  sight  of  a  well-known  and  well-loved  face. 

"  Aha,  my  friend,  I  catch  you  at  it !  "  said  a  loud 
jeering  voice. 


i88       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Thus  rudely  recalled  from  floating  circles  of  Ely- 
sian  peace,  the  Canon  opened  his  eyes  with  a  start. 

"  I  was  meditating,"  he  began,  with  great  dignity. 
"  It  is  a  frequent  habit  of  mine  to  take  a  text  of  my 
breviary  for  morning  contemplation." 

He  spoke,  serenely  persuaded  of  his  own  blame- 
less innocence,  when  his  glance  fell  upon  the  volume 
open  on  his  knee.     His  jaw  dropped. 

"  So  I  see,"  cried  the  Doctor,  with  his  great  laugh. 
"  Aha !  "  and  nipped  the  book  from  his  friend's  lap. 

The  Canon  blushed,  then  winced  to  see  his  delicate 
treasure  caught  by  two  leaves  like  a  butterfly  by  its 
wings.  He  stretched  out  a  protecting  hand,  which 
the  Doctor,  glorying  in  his  advantage,  met  with  an 
elbow. 

"  '  Surely,'  says  the  Duchess,  'you  would  not  think 
of  disturbing  the  Canon  at  his  meditations ! '  '  Oh, 
yes,'  says  the  gardener,  '  Mr.  the  Canon  is  down 
there,  but  Mr.  the  Doctor  is  not  dreaming  of  disturb- 
ing him  at  this  hour?'  And  Jacques,  sweeping  the 
valley  over  there,  with  his  yelp :  '  Not  that  way, 
m'sieic!  Not  that  way!  M'sieii  le  Chanoine  is 
praying.'  Aha !  I  could  get  myself  a  reputation  for 
sanctity  too  on  those  terms.  Eh,  the  fine  medita- 
tion!  "     And  the  Doctor  read  out  — 

"  '  Ilium  adeo  placuisse  apibus  mirabere  morem 
Quod  nee  concubitu  indulgent,  nee  eorpora  segnes 
In  Venerem  solvunt,  aut  fetus  nixibus  edunt.' 

TienSy  tiens,  I  could  meditate  on  that  myself,  mere 
curer  of  bodies  as  I  am." 
The  poor   Canon  writhed,    as   much   perhaps   on 


THE    SECRET   ORCHARD       189 

account  of  the  Doctor's  butchery  of  lilt  and  quantity 
as  from  the  human  irritation  of  one  caught  napping, 
in  every  sense  of  the  word.  The  colour  deepened  on 
his  cheek.  The  hand  which  conveyed  the  comfort- 
ing pinch  of  snuff  to  his  nostrils  shook  perceptibly. 

But  the  few  seconds  of  time  necessitated  for  the 
absorption  of  the  Spanish  mixture  was  sufficient  for 
the  spiritual  to  reconquer  his  ordinary  dominion  over 
the  human  Canon.  Those  whose  rule  of  perfection 
it  is  to  engage  in  set  consultation  with  conscience  at 
least  three  times  a  day  are  apt  to  find  the  still  small 
voice  extremely  penetrating  on  other  occasions  as 
well.  The  irate  gleam  in  the  old  man's  eye  was 
quenched.  He  flung  quite  a  shamefaced  glance  at 
the  Doctor,  and,  closing  his  snuff-box,  said  with 
humility: 

"  I  hope  I  have  never  posed  as  a  saint,  Doctor. 
But  if  I  have  unwittingly  led  any  one  to  think  that 
of  me,  I  am  justly  punished  by  being  found  out  at 
the  very  moment  when  I  was  giving  full  vent  to 
self-indulgence  and  sloth.  Occasions  of  too  frequent 
occurrence  indeed  !  " 

The  Doctor  looked  quickly  at  the  stately  white 
head  bent,  and  the  expression  of  his  good-natured 
mocking  face  changed.  He  cleared  his  throat,  closed 
the  Aldine  carefully  and  laid  it  back  on  the  other's 
knee.  Next  he  stooped  and  picked  up  the  breviary, 
dusted  it  and  deposited  it  on  the  bench. 

"Oh,"  he  said  then,  in  a  detached  voice,  "if  there 
were  more  of  them  like  you,  I  'd  begin  to  believe  in 
the  use  of  saints  !     A  pinch  from  your  box.  Canon." 


ipo      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Their  eyes  met.  It  was  with  comfortable  sym- 
pathy and  understanding. 

"  Ah,  aha,  hum  !  "  said  the  Doctor  and  snuffed 
noisily.  "  Well,  now,  my  gossip,  that  I  have  run 
you  down,  I  suppose  we  can  have  a  few  moments' 
quiet  talk.  Not  to  beat  about  the  bush:  how  do 
you  think  things  are  going  on  with  our  friends  up 
yonder? " 

He  jerked  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder.  The  Canon 
turned  towards  him  with  some  surprise  and  concern. 

"What  makes  you  say  that?" 

''Ah,mon  Dieu!"  —  Lebel  shrugged  his  shoulders 
—  "to  have  your  opinion  on  the  subject,  I  suppose. 
Look  here,  my  good  sir,  you  are  the  keeper  of  con- 
sciences up  there,  I  am  keeper  of  mere  bodies,  even 
as  I  said  just  now.  But  we  are  always  coming  across 
each  other  for  all  that."  He  saw  a  flicker  of  contro- 
versial triumph  in  the  Canon's  eye,  and  hastily  pro- 
ceeded with  his  good-natured,  brutal  frankness :  "  I 
have  not  looked  you  up  to  waste  my  time  upon  argu- 
ments of  theodicy,  you  may  be  sure :  I  have  too  much 
to  do  with  this  life  and  this  life's  mechanisms  just  now. 
Briefly,  then,  you  have  influence  that  I,  rightly  or 
wrongly,  cannot  pretend  to.  I  '11  not  discuss  it.  Well, 
then,  you  had  better  use  it."  Again  the  stubby  finger 
came  into  play.  "  Get  the  Duchess,"  said  the  Doctor, 
slowly,  "  to  rid  her  house  of  that  girl." 

The  most  profound  astonishment,  gradually  merg- 
ing into  consternation,  became  depicted,  in  waves  so 
to  speak,  on  the  Canon's  face. 

"The  child?"  he  stammered. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       191 

"  Child  !  "  snorted  the  Doctor.  "  Now,  look  here. 
Canon,  do  not  speak  in  a  hurry.  If  you  pretend  to 
be  able  to  guide  souls,  you  ought  to  base  your  judg- 
ments upon  something  more  than  mere  externals. 
Oh,  you  call  that  little  minx  a  child  on  the  strength 
of  her  baby  curls  and  her  little  face?  Now  just  give 
yourself  the  trouble  to  reflect  for  a  moment  upon  the 
effect  that  child  produces  upon  the  men  of  the  com- 
munity. There's  Mr.  Dodd,  the  fine  Yankee  fellow. 
Eh  ?     What  does  he  think  of  the  child  ?  " 

More  and  more  disturbed  became  the  priest's  face. 

"  Now  that  you  say  so,"  he  remarked  hesitatingly, 
"of  course  —  Mr.  Dodd  —  indeed,  I  believe,  at  least, 
I  have  noticed,  he  is  certainly  not  indifferent  to  Made- 
moiselle Joy's  presence." 

"  Indifferent !  "  snapped  the  Doctor.  "  The  man 
does  not  know  what  he  's  doing  when  she  's  near  him. 
He  's  mad  for  her  —  mad  !  Well,  now,  let  us  take  the 
Marquis  next,  Totol  —  little  idiot !  He  hates  and  fears 
young  girls,  that  one.  With  a  girl  he  has  to  mind  his 
p's  and  qs.  Innocence  and  ignorance  and  timidity  — 
all  that  sort  of  thing  bore  him.  He  's  afraid  of  it.  He 
has  no  use  for  it.  You  know  his  jargon;  oh,  he's  a 
pretty  type !  He  avoided  the  little  one  like  the  plague, 
that  first  evening.  And  now !  Have  you  seen  them 
together?  seen  the  way  he  looks  at  her?  Have  you 
watched  him  manceuvre  to  get  out  of  range  of 
Mamma's  eyes  and  inveigle  Mademoiselle  into  some 
deserted  room  or  other?  Come,  you  have  seen  them 
together !  He  does  not  seem  to  see  a  school-girl  in 
her,  now  —  does  he?" 


192        THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

The  Canon's  lips  moved  voicelessly.  The  anxiety 
in  his  eye  grew  more  intense. 

"Well,  since  you  mention  it,"  he  at  length  mur- 
mured, "  once  or  twice  I  have,  in  truth,  seen  the  Mar- 
quis de  Lormes  with  the  young  girl.  This  morning 
in  the  garden  — "  He  passed  his  yellow  silk  hand- 
kerchief over  his  brow.  "  But  I  assure  you,"  he  went 
on  eagerly,  "  I  assure  you,  she  did  not  appear  in  the 
least  inclined  to  encourage  his  attentions.  It  was 
quite  the  reverse." 

The  Doctor  looked  at  the  Canon  with  indulgent 
contempt. 

"  Quite  the  reverse,"  he  repeated  ironically.  "  Quite 
so,  my  dear  Canon.  That  is  the  type,  to  the  life.  Oh, 
don't  I  know  her,  that  one !  Women  of  that  type 
never  do  seem  to  encourage  any  one,  and  yet  the 
mere  fact  of  their  presence  in  the  room  will  set  every 
man's  blood  astir.  Look  you,  my  friend,  I  speak 
from  experience.  I  —  I,  old  fellow  that  I  am,  I  my- 
self can  feel  the  little  demon."  He  stopped  to  laugh 
out  loud  at  the  horror-struck  expression  of  the  priest. 
"  But  don't  be  afraid,"  he  went  on  jeeringly,  "  it  is  a 
matter  of  no  consequence  with  me.  I  just  note  the 
symptoms  as  a  scientific  fact,  and  that  is  all.  As  for 
you,  you  have  worked  so  long  at,  and  succeeded  so 
well  in,  transforming  yourself  into  an  old  woman  — 
Oh,  well,  you  can  hardly  even  understand  !  Now  let 
me  tell  you  in  one  word  what  your  child  is :  she 's  a 
dangerous  woman !  Do  you  want  to  have  another 
definition  —  the  scientific  one?  C'est  une  tvoublante. 
Would  you  like  an  historical  one?     She  is  what  your 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       193 

Churchmen  in  the  middle  ages  used  to  call  a  Siiccii- 
bus.  And  were  we  still  in  those  good  old  days  ('pon 
my  soul  I  almost  wish  we  were!),  she  would  be  put 
on  her  trial,  you  would  sit  on  the  bench,  and  she 
would  be  burned  as  a  witch.  Listen !  Only  a  few 
years  ago,  Madame  la  Duchesse  yonder  insisted  on 
taking  me  to  a  charity  fancy  fair  at  Versailles.  A 
monster  fair  it  was ;  every  kind  and  condition  of  men 
and  women.  The  good  matrons  of  the  Faubourg 
who  organised  it  (our  Marquise  in  the  thick  of  it  of 
course)  had  entrusted  the  flower  stalls  to  the  '  ladies 
of  the  profession,'  because  they  would  be  the  most 
attractive  to  the  gentlemen.  Eh,  eh,  charity  covers  a 
multitude  of  sins !  Well,  there  was  one  there  of  that 
lot,  a  tall  one,  a  sort  of  lily  to  look  at,  still  and  white 
and  slender.  And  all  round  her,  I  tell  you,  my  poor 
friend,  it  was  like  a  swarm  of  bees !  It  hummed  with 
men,  young  and  old,  soldiers,  actors,  dukes,  artists, 
Jews  and  Christians,  what  do  I  know — all  our  golden 
youth,  and  all  the  silver  age.  Bah  !  I  saw  a  minister, 
a  surgeon,  a  diplomat,  and  the  last  poet.  Not  a 
flower  left  on  her  stall,  nor  a  leaf;  heap  of  gold 
pieces  before  her.  She  would  not  take  the  trouble 
to  sweep  them  into  her  till.  Once  or  twice  she 
opened  her  mouth,  showing  the  tip  of  her  white 
teeth,  only  wide  enough  for  the  passage  of  a  dis- 
dainful word.  Occasionally  she  looked  up,  and  shot 
a  glance  always  in  the  same  direction  at  one  par- 
ticular man.  Brooding  eye  of  fire !  By  the  way 
(you  may  not  have  noticed  it),  our  Mademoiselle 
Joy   has,   on    occasions,  when    she    looks   at   a   par- 

13 


194      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

ticular  person,  something  of  that  sort  of  glance. 
Oh,  it  is  the  type !  That  lily.  Canon,  was  the  famous 
Cora  May." 

The  Canon  started,  and  then  instantly  endeavoured 
to  cover  his  movement.  The  ejaculation  on  his  lips 
he  repressed.  His  face  became  grey  white.  The 
Doctor,  engrossed  in  his  own  theme,  proceeded  with 
gusto : 

"And  the  young  man  she  looked  at  was  the  rich 
Hungarian,  Count  Wallsee." 

Again  the  priest  started;  the  sensational  ruin  of 
Count  Wallsee  and  his  no  less  sensational  suicide 
had  reached  even  his  hermit  ears. 

"Oh,  it  is  the  type!  "  M.  Lebel  went  on.  "And 
this  precious  orphan  of  the  Duchess  has  got  the  type, 
my  friend.  She  reminds  me  of  no  one  so  much  as 
of  la  Belle  Cora  herself." 

The  Canon's  happy  morning,  his  mood  of  charming, 
if  reprehensible  placidity,  was  rudely  disturbed  indeed. 
He  knew  the  Doctor  well;  and,  while  lamenting  his 
irreligious  convictions,  he  respected  him  as  an  earnest 
worker  and  a  shrewd  intelligence,  and  he  loved  him  for 
his  unfailing  all-human  goodness.  From  such  a  man 
a  warning  was  not  a  thing  to  be  lightly  put  aside. 

The  two  again  looked  at  each  other,  and  it  was  the 
same  apprehension  that  clutched  at  both  their  hearts. 
These  were  lonely  men.  The  one  from  vocation  and 
deliberate  sacrifice,  the  other  from  the  accident  of  life. 
Both,  in  their  different  ways,  filled  their  hours  by 
ceaseless  work  for  others.  All  they  knew  of  home, 
of  the  grace  of  existence,  of  the  joys  round  the  hearth, 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      195 

was  given  to  them  by  Helen.  And  all  the  rooted 
tenderness  a  man  has  in  him  to  give  wife  and  child, 
all  its  overshadowing  solicitude,  its  care  and  thought, 
its  ceaseless  preoccupation,  these  two  solitary  men 
had  almost  unconsciously,  most  purely,  given  to 
Helen. 

The  Canon,  of  course,  was  fully  convinced  that  the 
motives  which  for  fourteen  years  had  induced  him  so 
persistently  to  refuse  all  the  preferments  periodically 
offered  to  a  man  of  his  name,  attainments  and  saintly 
reputation,  were  an  unmixed  devotion  to  his  little 
flock  and  a  humble  desire  of  working  out  his  salvation 
in  comparative  obscurity.  That  Dr.  Lebel,  again,  had 
grown  grey  by  the  bedside  of  the  country  poor,  when 
the  same  amount  of  work  might  have  placed  one  of 
his  capacity  in  the  first  rank  of  his  profession  in  Paris, 
was  solely  due  (if  you  believed  him)  to  his  intoler- 
ance of  fashionable  humbug,  to  his  determined  pref- 
erence for  the  necessarily  less  degenerate  humanity 
of  the  fields.  "  I  like,"  he  would  say,  "  to  work 
upon  unadulterated  stuff.  I  like  my  human  nature 
in  the  ore." 

The  real  fact,  however,  blissfully  ignored  by  both, 
was  that  their  whole  existence  had,  for  fourteen 
years,  circled  round  Helen  as  inevitably  as  that  of  a 
man  round  his  natural  home.  Helen !  In  words 
even  to  each  other  it  was,  of  course,  Madame  la 
DiicJicsse.  In  their  hearts  she  was  "  Helen,"  their 
child,  the  light  of  their  eyes ! 

The  Canon  took  a  fresh  pinch  and  spilt  the  half 
of  it  in  most  unwonted  slovenliness. 


196      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"  But,  surely,  surely,"  he  urged,  with  an  attempt 
to  re-establish  himself  upon  his  former  height  of 
happy,  charitable  security,  and  to  argue  down  the 
clamorous  voices  of  a  thousand  misgivings,  "  surely, 
my  dear  Doctor,  you  are  frightening  yourself — you 
are  frightening  me  —  rather  unnecessarily.  Granted 
that  Joy  is  perhaps  too  attractive  to  young  men, 
granted  that  it  is  not  a  very  prudent  thing  for  the 
Duchess  to  have  burdened  herself  with  an  adopted 
child  of  that  age  (having  so  little  knowledge  of  her 
previous  life)  more  than  this  cannot  be  said.  Her 
manner  is  perfectly  modest.  She  seems  an  innocent, 
well-brought-up  young  person.  Do  you  not  think 
so?  Have  you  observed  anything  forward,  anything 
displeasing  in  her  manner?  As  for  me,  she  has 
struck  me,  I  must  say,  as  possessing  quite  remarkable 
reserve." 

The  Doctor,  with  his  mouth  open,  his  jaw  thrust 
on  one  side,  sat  scratching  his  chin  and  rolling  a 
deeply  reflective  eye  upon  the  priest.  There  was  a 
pause.  Then  the  man  of  medicine  let  his  hands  fall 
with  a  clap  upon  his  stout  knees,  shook  his  head 
and,  stooping  down,  earnestly  surveyed  the  patch  of 
gravel  between  his  feet. 

"  Too  much  reserve !  That  is  the  very  thing. 
'T  is  n't  natural." 

But  the  priest  had  already  found  consolation  in  his 
own  arguments. 

*'  It  is  the  maidenly  instinct,  my  good  Doctor. 
Come,  come  !  you  see  everything  black  this  morning. 
Why,  the  Duchess  is  delighted.     And  has  she  not 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       197 

had  every  opportunity  of  judging?  She  has  the  girl 
with  her,  morning,  noon  and  night." 

The  Doctor  threw  back  his  head.  "  The  Duchess?  " 
he  said.  "  Oh,  don't  use  that  as  an  argument.  Canon  ! 
Why,  she's  as  easy  to  take  in  as  yourself:  result  of 
the  long  practice  of  charity,  I  suppose.  Suspect  no 
evil,  eh?  (Bless  her!  Bless  her!)  But  she's  not 
a  clever  woman." 

The  Canon  was  amazed.  He  was  shocked.  In 
his  ears  it  sounded  almost  like  blasphemy.  Not 
clever?     Not  perfection?  —  their  Helen! 

"  Monsieur  Lebel !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  No,  Monsieur  de  Hauteroche,  I  am  not  mad. 
I  know  what  I  am  saying.  Who  wants  her  clever? 
Not  I.  Who  wants  her  different?  Not  I.  She's 
forty  times  better  than  the  cleverest  woman  that  ever 
breathed.  She  has  got  the  intelligence  of  the  heart, 
the  tact  of  the  heart.  Ah,  no  one  will  ever  beat  her 
there !  Look  you,  man :  it  is  because  she  is  what 
she  is  .  .  .  well,  we  need  not  talk  about  that,  you 
and  I.  But  things  would  hit  her  hard,  you  know ; 
and,  in  short,  I  don't  like  the  look  of  it  all  up  there." 

"  Why,  then,"  said  the  priest,  infectious  fear  again 
invading  all  his  reasoning  faculties,  "  the  best  thing 
that  can  happen  is  that  this  Mr.  Dodd  should  marry 
Joy.  From  certain  little  indications,"  said  the 
Canon,  with  an  air  of  great  worldly  acumen,  "  obtuse 
as  I  may  be,  my  old  friend,  I  am  convinced  that  this 
young  American  has  the  most  serious  intentions." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  Yes,  yes !  "  He 
lay  back  upon  the  bench,  gazing  upwards  at  the  blue 


198       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

sky  with  vacant  eyes,  and  thrust  his  hands  deep  into 
his  pockets. 

"  Why,  then,"  pursued  the  priest,  delighted, 
*'  Providence  has  already  provided.  They  must  be 
married.  What  more  simple?  The  young  girl's 
future  is  happily  assured.  And  a  possibly  —  ah  — 
disturbing  element  is  removed  from  the  house.  Mr. 
Dodd  will  have  to  return  to  America  very  soon. 
And  there  we  are.  And  I  myself —  Hein  !  what  did 
you  say?" 

"  I  said :  '  Marry  them,' "  remarked  the  Doctor, 
still  staring  at  the  blue. 

"  Marry  them?  "  repeated  the  other.     "  Of  course." 

"  Marry  them,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  if  you  can." 

"Hein?"  said  the  priest  again, 

M.  Lebel  gathered  himself  together.  Fertile  in 
methods  of  expressing  the  state  of  his  mind  by  the 
contortions  of  his  body,  he  now  drew  himself  up  into 
a  sort  of  hard  knot,  his  arms  clasped  round  his 
knees. 

"  Oh,  you  might  marry  him,  fast  enough.  But 
she  won't  have  him."  He  suddenly  unclasped  him- 
self and  fell  apart,  both  hands,  fingers  outstretched, 
flung  out  with  the  utmost  emphasis.  "  She  's  shown 
that  pretty  plainly.  She  has  her  eye  on  some  one 
else,  Canon  —  the  Duke  !  " 

The  Canon  felt  as  if  he  were  being  whirled  round 
in  some  sudden  and  amazing  whirlwind:  all  his 
thoughts  danced  giddily,  aimlessly,  like  dry  leaves 
in  an  autumn  blast. 

"  But,"  he  exclaimed,  feebly  catching  at  the  dry 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       199 

leaf  that  bobbed  up  oftenest,  "  she  cannot  marry  the 
Duke !  " 

There  was  a  pause,  an  awful  pause,  while  the 
Doctor  looked  at  the  priest.  The  Canon  felt  his 
skin  grow  cold  and  stiffen. 

"  No,  she  cannot  marry  the  Duke,"  said  the  other 
at  last,  very  slowly.  Then  he  added  quickly,  with 
his  expressive  gesture:  "Don't  misunderstand  me. 
Thus  far  all  is  right,  of  course.  A  week !  But  have 
not  you  noticed?  The  Duke  avoids  her,  he  is  un- 
comfortable near  her.  He  is  afraid  of  her.  Why? 
I  told  you  why,  just  now:  he  is  a  man,  parhleu. 
Afraid  of  her  did  I  say?  He  is  afraid  of  himself! 
And,  what  is  more,  the  Duchess  has  noticed  some- 
thing unusual  about  him.  She  's  asked  me  to  catch 
him  and  prescribe  for  him  to-day.  She  thinks  him 
looking  ill.  She  ought  to  have  asked  you  —  but  we 
shall  see." 

"  Oh !  "  cried  the  priest,  and  clasped  his  hands, 
"for  God's  sake.  Doctor!  Oh,  my  God!"  He 
raised  and  shook  his  clasped  hands.  "  This  dreadful 
world !  The  Duke  is  a  man  of  honour,  Lebel  — 
besides,  he  loves  his  wife.  There  is  loyalty  to  keep 
him,  the  sanctity  of  hospitality.  You  see,  I  speak  of 
no  higher  rule." 

"  The  Duke  is  a  man,"  said  the  Doctor,  doggedly. 
"  I  don't  know  much  about  the  higher  rule,  but  I 
know  men.  So  did  the  old  chronicler,  by-the-bye, 
whom  you  call  inspired.  Did  Adam  refuse  the  apple 
when  Eve  offered?  Does  any  Adam  ever  refuse 
the  apple  from  a  pretty  Eve?    Ah,  if  he  refuses  once. 


200       THE    SECRET  ORCHARD 

I  warrant  he  does  not  refuse  twice !  Not  if  I  know 
human  nature." 

"  Alas,  alas  !  "  wailed  the  other.  "  Poor  human 
nature !  Poor  indeed  when  it  will  depend  on  its  own 
strength." 

"  Come,"  said  the  Doctor,  with  affected  roughness, 
"  this  is  no  moment  for  jeremiads.  I  interrupted 
your  meditations  (ahem  !)  to-day  because  I  felt  the 
matter  was  urgent  enough.  By  a  stroke  of  good 
luck  it  appears  that  Monsieur  Favereau  is  expected 
back.  Our  three  good  heads  together  should  find  a 
respectable  way  out  of  this  business." 

"  Unfortunately,"  said  the  Canon,  still  heavily 
troubled,  "  there  is  a  diocesan  meeting  at  Versailles, 
this  afternoon.  Even  now,"  said  he  after  consulting 
his  watch,  "  I  ought  to  be  thinking  of  making  my 
way  to  the  station.  Impossible  to  say  if  I  can  return 
to-night  or  only  in  time  for  my  mass  to-morrow 
morning.     It  is  most  unfortunate !  " 

"  Oh,  to-morrow  will  be  time  enough,  let  us  hope  !  " 
said  the  Doctor,  with  a  laugh.  "  Time  will  be  wanted 
—  time  and  tact." 

"  To  vary  the  simile,  in  short,"  said  M.  Lebel, 
briskly,  as  he  accompanied  the  Canon  part  of  the  way 
down  the  shady  avenue  of  chestnuts  towards  the 
white  high-road  leading  to  the  village,  "  to  vary  the 
simile,  my  old  friend,  there  is  a  serpent  in  our 
paradise,  and  we  must  —  and  shall  —  get  rid  of  the 
creature  before  it  has  time  to  do  the  mischief  which 
is  in  its  serpent  nature  to  do  !  " 


CHAPTER   XXI 

IT  was  very  cool  in  the  long  drawing-room  of  the 
chateau,  where  groups  of  antique,  gilt-legged, 
brocade-covered  furniture  made  islands  in  a  shin- 
ing sea  of  parquet  flooring.  The  walls,  with  the  old 
pastels  led  into  their  white  panels,  stretched  to  an 
incredibly  high  ceiling,  where  dim  chubby  cupids 
wreathed  in  azure  ribbons  and  pale  roses  chased  one 
another  across  clouded  blue  skies. 

Upon  one  of  the  little  islands,  protected  from  the 
outer  world  by  a  curveting  gilt  and  glass  screen,  the 
Duchess  and  her  friend,  Madame  Rodriguez,  sat  un- 
der the  spreading  fans  of  a  palm.  They  were  pleas- 
antly installed  between  the  reseda-scented  breeze 
that  blew  in  from  one  of  the  open  windows  and  the 
incense  rising  from  a  fantastically  large  bowl  of  roses 
enthroned  on  a  low  marble  and  gilt-chained,  altar- 
like tripod. 

Helen,  in  her  lilac-tinted  morning  gown,  lying 
back  against  the  pale  green  cushion  of  the  catiseuse, 
looked  an  image  of  rest  and  placidity  —  rest,  although 
her  long  white  fingers  moved  ceaselessly  with  flash 
of  knitting-needle  in  the  mass  of  wool  in  her  lap ; 
placidity,   although  one  who   knew  her  well   might 


202       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

have  traced  on  her  brow  and  in  her  eyes  a  secret 
weight  of  trouble. 

Nessie,  a  very  antithesis,  sat  on  a  spindle-legged 
chair  at  a  spindle-legged  writing-table  —  if  indeed 
the  verb  "  to  sit"  can  apply  to  a  kaleidoscopic  change 
of  position  that  never  permitted  a  minute's  quies- 
cence in  the  same  attitude.  The  little  lady's  apricot 
cheek  was  flushed ;  her  crisp  hair,  twisted  this  way 
and  that  by  the  frequent  clutch  of  impatient  fingers, 
suggested  an  impression  of  mutiny  unwonted  in 
those   well-drilled   tresses. 

Five  or  six  sheets  of  paper,  crumpled  or  torn 
across,  lying  around  her,  as  well  as  ink-stains  on  the 
small  fingers  and  even  one  or  two  upon  the  lace 
ruffles  of  that  elaborate  primrose-ribboned  negligee  — 
in  which  she  had  cut  such  a  charming  figure  only  an 
hour  ago  —  bore  witness  that  her  agitation  was  con- 
nected with  the  inditing  of  a  letter. 

She  now  bent  her  head  over  the  blotter.  The 
much  nibbled  and  ruffled  goose-quill  was  plunged 
vindictively  into  the  ink.  Scratch,  scratch  went  the 
nib  in  great  black  lines  across  the  new  sheet,  with 
an  energy  that  set  every  separate  vaporous  frill 
quivering. 

Suddenly  the  pen  was  dashed  aside  and  the  writer 
wheeled  round  in  her  chair,  waving  the  result  of  her 
labour. 

"  Listen,  Helen  — 

" '  Mrs.  Nessie  P.  Rodriguez  begs  to  inform  ]\Ir.  Ruy  An- 
tonio Rodriguez  that  she  declines  to  have  any  further  com- 
munication with  him  of  any  kind  or  description  whatever. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      203 

" '  If  Mr.  Ruy  Antonio  Rodriguez  goes  on  pestering  Mrs. 
Nessie  P.  Rodriguez  in  the  same  manner  as  before,  she  will 
certainly  place  the  matter  in  the  hands  of  her  lawyers.' 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that?  That 's  pretty  clear, 
is  it  not?" 

The  Duchess  turned  the  corner  of  her  row  without 
looking  up.     Then  she  said  gently : 

"  I  would  not  send  that,  Nessie," 

Mrs.  Nessie  P.  Rodriguez  hereupon  fell  into  a 
violent  state  of  indignation,  in  which  she  fluttered 
and  pecked  about  as  effectively  as  a  robin  in  a  rage. 

"  Oh,  would  you  not,  though !  "  This  was  sar- 
castic. "  No,  of  course  you  would  not."  This  was 
sheer  temper.  "If  your  Duke  played  the  same 
games  on  you  as  Rodriguez  does  on  me,  you  would 
just  turn  up  your  eyes  to  heaven  and  pray  for  his  soul." 
This  was  scathingly  contemptuous.  Then  she  be- 
came pathetic.  "  Oh,  it 's  very  easy  for  you  to  talk  ! 
I  'd  forgive  the  Duke  anything  myself;  but  when 
you  have  to  deal  with  a  real"  (sob)  "  low-down  sort 

of"  (sob)  "creature  like  Rodriguez "  Here  her 

feelings  became  too  deep  for  words. 

Helen  had  raised  her  eyes.  Her  voice,  after 
Nessie's  vibrating  nasal  anger,  fell  like  balm. 

"  He  is  your  husband." 

At  this  the  human  robin  literally  fluttered  into  the 
air.  Down  went  the  pen  on  one  side,  the  sheet  of 
paper  on  the  other.  The  small  feet  stamped,  the 
small  fists  gesticulated. 

"  And  that 's  the  very  worst  thing  about  the  whole 


204       THE   SECRET    ORCHARD 

sickening    business.     My    husband !     My  husband ! 
Lord,  I  could  forgive  him  anything  but  that !  " 

She  gave  an  angry  laugh.  And  then  —  for  the 
saving  grace  of  real  humour  extends  in  many  direc- 
tions—  futile  rage  fell  away,  and  the  comical  side  of 
her  situation  began  to  assert  itself. 

"Well,  I  am  not  built  like  you,  Helen,  and  that's 
about  it.  I  am  just  sick  of  being  treated  like  an 
automatic  machine  for  the  delivery  of  banknotes. 
Ton  my  soul,  that  Rodriguez  thinks  he  has  only  to 
drop  a  penny  stamp  in  the  slot,  and  out  will  come  a 
cheque !  It  is  n't  even  always  a  penny.  I  have 
known  him  do  it  on  a  halfpenny  postcard.  Faugh! 
No,  now  there  is  n't  a  mite  of  good  in  your  going  on 
like  that,  Helen.  I  have  not  got  one  spark  of  Chris- 
tian feeling  left  for  that  man.  No,  nor  I  am  not  go- 
ing to  pray  for  his  conversion.  Why,  we  might  meet 
again  in  the  next  world  !  And  I  don't  think  my  halo 
would  sit  at  all  comfortably  if  I  did  not  know  he  was 
having  a  real  good  frizzle  somewhere  else." 

Her  familiar  cackle  sounded  quite  heart-whole  and 
refreshing.  Helen  smiled  with  indulgent,  amused 
rebuke,  as  upon  a  kitten  or  a  child  or  some  other 
irresponsible  but  delightful  little  animal. 

Madame  Nessie  picked  up  her  pen,  and  nibbled  it 
with  her  head  on  one  side,  restored  to  good  humour 
by  a  just  appreciation  of  her  own  wit. 

A  footman,  in  his  pink-and-white  striped  morning- 
jacket,  came  round  the  screen  and  presented  a  tele- 
gram on  a  tray. 

•'  For  Madame,"  he  said,  holding  it  under  Nessie's 
hand. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      205 

**  Mercy !  "  said  she,  and  eyed  it  with  sidelong, 
shy  glance.  Then  she  snapped  up  the  folded  blue 
paper  and  watched  the  servant's  retreating  figure 
critically.  "  He  's  a  well-trained  young  man,  Helen. 
I  wonder  how  long  he  stood  at  the  door  waiting  for 
a  pause  in  our  conversation.  I  expect  my  voice  car- 
ries some  way." 

"  Jean  is  a  good  lad,"  said  Helen,  who  took  deep 
personal  interest  in  every  member  of  her  household ; 
"  I  do  not  think  he  would  listen  at  the  door.  Your 
telegram,  Nessie?" 

Madame  Rodriguez  turned  the  bit  of  paper  over 
and  over. 

"  I  don't  like  the  look  of  it,"  she  said  childishly. 
Then  she  stuck  her  little  finger  under  the  wafer  and 
pulled  it  open.  The  next  minute,  "Mercy!"  she 
cried  again,  this  time  in  shrill  distress,  and  rose, 
hands  rigidly  stuck  out,  in  a  doll-like  attitude  of 
dismay. 

"  My  dear  !  "  exclaimed  Helen,  and  anxiously  ap- 
proached her. 

But  the  other  impatiently  shook  off  the  kindly 
touch. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  she  muttered  to  herself.  "  It 's 
a  horrid  he."  She  crumpled  the  dispatch  convul- 
sively, the  next  moment  smoothed  it  out  again, 
re-read  it  with  starting  eyes  and  mouthing  lips. 
Then  with  a  scream  of  dismay,  "  Helen,  Helen, 
what  shall  I  do?"  she  cried,  allowed  the  blue  slip  of 
paper  to  flutter  from  her  hand,  and  sinking  into  her 
chair,  rocked  herself  backwards  and  forwards. 


2o6       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Now  really  alarmed,  her  friend  took  up  the  tele- 
gram, and  read  for  herself  — 

"  Don  Ruy  Rodriguez  dangerously  ill  —  typhus.  Begs 
you  will  not  come  —  fear  of  infection.  Send  immediately 
four  thousand  francs  for  necessary  expenses.  Matter  most 
urgent.  I  transmit  his  dying  love.  —  Manuel  Cortez  y 
Mendoza,   Grand  Hotel  Biarritz.'" 

"  Oh,  oh,  oh !  "  moaned  Nessie.  "  Read  it  out, 
Helen !  "  Listening,  she  punctuated  each  sentence 
with  a  short  sharp  groan.  "  What  does  he  say  it  is 
now?  Typhus!"  She  sat  up.  A  flicker  of  doubt 
appeared  in  her  distraught  eye.  She  suddenly  grew 
calmer.  "  Typhus.  That 's  new.  That 's  a  new 
disease.  He 's  never  had  typhus  yet.  What  does 
typhus  run  to?  " 

The  Duchess,  who  had  assimilated  the  contents  of 
the  dispatch  to  her  great  relief  (having  sufBcient 
knowledge  of  M.  Rodriguez's  previous  history  to  feel 
very  little  anxiety  on  the  score  of  his  health  news), 
and  who  was  moved  with  no  little  indignation  against 
one  who  could  play  so  successfully  upon  a  woman's 
tenderness,  answered  drily  enough: 

"  Four  thousand  francs." 

An  agony  of  doubt  distorted  Nessie's  countenance. 

"That's  cheap,"  she  exclaimed,  jumping  to  her 
feet  once  more.  "  Lord's  sakes,  perhaps  it's  true  !  " 
She  clutched  her  friend's  wrist  and  shook  it  violently. 
"  Don't  say  it's  true  !  "  And,  bursting  into  tears,  she 
once  again  dropped  on  her  chair. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       207 

The  crunch  of  the  Doctor's  heavy  foot  on  the 
gravel  resounded  from  outside.  His  sturdy  bulk 
presently  filled  up  the  open  window-space. 

"  Heyday,"  said  the  cheery  voice,  as  its  owner 
paused  to  look  in,  "what  have  we  here?"  He 
untidily  stuffed  the  bandana  handkerchief  with  which 
he  was  mopping  his  brown  shining  face  into  the 
side  pocket  of  his  alpaca  jacket,  and  advanced,  sud- 
denly professional.  The  soles  of  his  country-made 
boots  squeaked  on  the  polished  boards.  "  Hysterics, 
eh?" 

Madame  Rodriguez  had  indeed  become  quite  con- 
vulsive in  her  distress.  The  Doctor  surveyed  her 
with  a  somewhat  callous  eye.  Then  he  turned  to  the 
Duchess,  who  was  vainly  endeavouring  to  administer 
consolation. 

"  Leave  her  alone,  Madame,"  he  said.  "  It  is  the 
very  worst  thing  in  the  world  to  fuss  about  an 
hysterical  patient.  Now,  my  treatment  is  to  pour 
cold  water  gently  down  the  neck,  and  then  to  leave 
the  afflicted  person  quite  alone,  in  a  thorough  draught 
if  possible.  I  have  never  known  it  fail.  Allow  me 
to  ring  for  some  cold  water." 

Not  regarding  the  situation  as  serious,  and  amused 
by  the  sudden  listening  tension  that  had  come  over 
Nessie's  figure  as  well  as  by  M.  Lebel's  quizzical 
expression,  even  tender-hearted  Helen  was  unable  to 
refrain  from  laughter. 

"  Hush,  Doctor,"  she  murmured,  trying  in  vain 
to  keep  the  note  of  mirth  from  her  voice,  "  she  has 
had  bad  news." 


2o8       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Madame  Rodriguez  sprang  to  her  feet,  indignation 
for  the  nonce  over-riding  all  other  emotions. 

"  Doctor,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  are  a  perfect  brute  ! 
Helen!  how  dare  you  laugh?"  She  settled  her 
ruffled  feathers  and  assumed  an  air  of  great  dignity. 
"  I  am  going  to  pack  my  trunks,  anyhow,  and  take 
the  first  rail  to  nurse  m}'  dying  husband  !  " 

"  Wait,  Nessie,  wait !  "  urged  the  Duchess,  and 
stretched  out  a  detaining  hand.  "  Oh,  truly,  darling, 
I  am  not  heartless,  but  —  the  fact  is,  I  don't  quite 
believe  in  that  telegram." 

Nessie  folded  her  arms.    "  How  dare  you,  Helen?" 

"May  one  see,  Madame?"  interposed  the  Doctor. 
And,  without  waiting  for  further  permission,  he  took 
up  the  dispatch. 

"  You  know,  Nessie,"  went  on  Helen,  eye  and  tone 
pleading  pardon  for  the  merriment  that  still  shook 
her  —  "  you  know  last  week  it  was  influenza,  and  that 
was  fifteen  thousand  francs." 

"  Oh,  you  have  made  us  all  aware  of  the  gentleman's 
ways,"  said  the  Doctor.  Then,  with  his  great  laugh, 
tapping  the  bit  of  paper,  he  added  :  "  And  I  am  afraid 
—  for  your  sake,  I  am  afraid  —  there  is  not  a  shred 
of  truth  in  this." 

But  Nessie,  for  no  reason  that  can  be  assigned,  was 
determined  to  view  matters  on  the  tragic  side. 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried,  with  a  sharp  ejaculation  that 
was  like  the  pop  of  a  champagne  cork.  She  shook 
herself  free  of  the  Duchess.  "  I  'm  going  to  pack, 
anyhow." 

The  Doctor  was  as  resourceful  by  long  habit  as  he 
was  good-natured  by  disposition. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       209 

"Ah,  well  —  hold!  It  is  easy  to  ascertain  the 
truth  without  putting  one's  self  out  so  much.  Look 
here,  now,  there 's  an  old  colleague  of  mine  at 
Biarritz ;  I  '11  telegraph  to  him  this  v^ery  moment. 
With  precedence  we  '11  have  the  answer  in  an  hour." 

"There,  Nessie,  what  a  good  idea  !  "  cried  Helen. 

But  Nessie  had  stalked  majestically  to  the  door. 
Even  as  the  Doctor  sat  down  to  write  she  halted  and 
looked  back  at  them,  a  being  destined  so  completely 
by  nature  for  the  light  side  of  existence  that  all  her 
efforts  at  tragic  indignation  and  wifely  concern  only 
succeeded  in  making  her  somehow  more  comical  than 
in  her  gayest  moments.  Shrilly,  solemnly  and  warn- 
ingly  she  called  out  to  her  friend  across  the  long 
room  —  Titania  playing  at  Cassandra: 

"  May  you  never  feel  what  it  is  not  to  know 
whether  you  're  going  to  be  a  widow  or  not !  " 

The  Doctor  laughed  out  loud,  as  his  stylographic 
pen  fled  along  the  telegram  form.  But  Helen's  face 
changed. 

"What  a  horrible  thing  to  say!  "  she  murmured 
slowly,  as  if  to  herself. 

"Just  ring  the  bell,  will  you,  Madame?"  said  the 
Doctor. 

Helen  was  neither  nervous  nor  morbid.  The  very 
sound  of  the  Doctor's  m.atter-of-fact  voice  was  suffi- 
cient to  dispel  her  momentary  inexplicable  feeling  of 
impending  calamity. 

Brushing  away  the  mental  cloud,  she  did  as  the 
Doctor  bade  her  and  stood  smiling  whilst,  in  his 
characteristic  way,  he  gave  directions  to  the  footman. 

14 


2IO      THE   SECRET    ORCHARD 

"  Here,  Joseph  —  no,  by  the  way,  you  're  John,  you 
are,  well,  it  does  not  matter  anyway — take  this  to 
the  chemist  —  I  mean  to  the  post-office  —  to  be  made 
up.  Tut,  tut !  I  mean,  forwarded  at  once,  with  pre- 
cedence, understand?" 

As  the  door  closed  on  the  servant,  Lebel  wheeled 
round  his  chair,  clapped  his  hands  on  his  knees  and 
drew  the  long  breath  which  generally  preceded  his 
entry  into  professional  matters. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  here  I  am.  Where  is  my 
patient?     Where  is  the  Duke?" 

"  He  will  be  here  in  a  minute.  He  said  he  would 
ride  to  Versailles  and  be  back  for  luncheon."  She 
clasped  her  fingers  over  her  knitting  and  glanced  up 
at  the  friendly  face.     "  I  am  anxious,"  she  went  on. 

"  Oh,  pooh  !  "  said  the  Doctor. 

**  No,  indeed,  Doctor,  he  is  not  well ;  I  have  never 
seen  him  like  this  before.  Of  course  he  does  not 
complain;  he  won't  even  admit  that  he  is  ill.  But 
he  does  not  eat,  he  does  not  sleep.  He  is  restless. 
He  walks  and  walks,  and  rides  and  rides,  as  if  to 
shake  off  something  —  I  don't  know  what — some- 
thing that  seems  to  be  coming  over  him." 

"  Eh,  eh,"  said  the  man  of  medicine,  reflectively, 
with  his  chin  on  one  side  and  his  fingers  burrowing 
in  beard  stubble.     "  Temper  short  ?     Irritable?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no !  "  she  cried.  "  He  has  never 
been  tenderer  to  me,  never  sweeter  in  his  courtesy 
to  every  one  around  him.  He  laughs,  he  talks ;  but 
there  is  a  sad  look  on  his  face,  Doctor,  when  he  does 
not  know  that  I  am  watching:." 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       211 

"Ah!  "  commented  M.  Lebel,  and  the  wandering 
fingers  reached  his  ear  where  they  halted,  pensively- 
pulling. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  Helen  pursued,  "  sometimes,  that 
he  maybe  feeling  some  illness  coming  upon  him; 
that  he  is  trying  to  fight  against  it,  to  keep  it  from 
me.  His  first  thought  is  always  for  me."  Some- 
thing in  the  Doctor's  attitude  struck  her  as  alarming. 
Instantly  every  fibre  of  her  being  thrilled  to  terror. 

"Doctor,  you  don't  think Oh,  my  God,  is  he 

really  going  to  be  ill .-' " 

"111?  Not  he,"  said  the  Doctor.  "There  now, 
there  you  go  !  Nothing,  I  '11  warrant,  that  you  and 
I  cannot  cure.  Eh,  a  splendid  constitution,  famous 
type,  Madame,  famous  type !  Does  n't  give  us 
doctors  much  work,  nor  ever  will  either."  He 
patted  her  white  fingers  with  his  kind,  ugly  hand. 
"  I  'II  have  a  look  at  him,  since  you  wish  it.  But  he 
must  n't  know.  Leave  it  to  me."  He  stood  up,  legs 
wide  apart,  in  his  favourite  attitude.  "  Liver,"  said 
he.  "The  liver,  Madame  —  it  is  a  prosaic  subject, 
but  even  our  Duke  has  a  liver,  I  am  glad  to  say  — 
the  liver  can  play  the  devil  with  a  man  sometimes ; 
excuse  the  word." 

The  wife's  ear  was  now  strained  to  other  sounds 
than  the  Doctor's  laugh,  reassuring  as  it  was.  She 
had  caught  the  footfall  of  a  tired  horse  under  the 
avenue  trees. 

"  There  is  Cluny  !  "  she  cried. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

"    yi    LL  said  and  done,  there  is  no  denying  it," 

X\^  the  Doctor  had  to  admit  to  himself,  as 
Cluny  came  in,  "that  is  a  charming  fellow." 

A  moment  before,  drawing  up  a  rapid  diagnosis 
based  on  his  own  observations  and  the  Duchess's 
confidences,  he  had  come  to  rather  uncomplimentary 
and  alarming  conclusions : 

A  poor  weak  man !  The  little  white  witch  has 
brought  liim  to  the  point  of  mental  conflict  already. 
Sapristi,  it  was  time  indeed  to  interfere  I  Eh  !  and 
he  married  to  that  zvoman  I  Ah,  God,  the  pitiful 
race  ! 

But  the  entrance  of  the  Duke,  the  mere  fact  of  his 
handsome  and  courteous  presence,  the  smile  and  the 
genuinely  cordial  greeting  produced  their  wonted 
effect.  That  the  man  could  smile  so  kindly  when 
he  was  so  unmistakably  weary,  both  in  mind  and 
body,  at  once  placed  him  in  the  rank  of  those  whose 
errors  elicit  pity  and  not  condemnation. 

It  did  not,  however,  take  the  discriminating  Doc- 
tor's eye  many  seconds  to  discover  that  things  were 
more  wrong  with  the  Duke  than  even  he  had  antici- 
pated. And  while,  with  an  assumption  of  more 
than  usual  boisterousness,   M.    Lebel   returned   his 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      213 

patron's  salutation,  his  glance  running  over  the 
unconscious  patient's  face  and  figure,  took  note  of 
small  significant  details:  the  dilated  pupil,  the 
beaded  brow,  the  notable  emaciation  of  the  hands, 
the  restless  foot,  the  quick  look  from  side  to  side, 
as  if  in  apprehension  of  something  or  some  one. 

"Decidedly,"  thought  M.  Lebel  again,  "it  was 
high  time! " 

"Ah,"  said  Cluny,  sinking  into  a  chair,  with  a 
deep  sigh,  "how  cool  and  restful  it  is  here!"  He 
looked  at  his  wife  wistfully,  and  then  sharply  away 
again,  as  if  the  sight  of  her  face  stung  him. 

"Well,  you  are  pretty  hot,  I  should  say,"  said  the 
Doctor,  balancing  his  round  bulk  on  the  edge  of  the 
causeiise.  "  It  looks  as  if  you  were  going  in  for  bant- 
ing all  of  a  sudden.  Such  athleticism  !  Always  on 
the  move!  Aha!  I  begin  to  suspect  it's  all  on 
account  of  the  American  cousin.  Want  to  show 
what  a  sportsman  a  Frenchman  can  be,  eh .-' " 

He  slid  his  squat  fingers  upon  the  Duke's  wrist. 
Cluny  made  an  impatient  movement  to  shake  off  the 
touch.  But  Dr.  Lebel  gripped,  looking  hard  at  him. 
And  with  a  faint  smile  and  shrug  the  Duke  sub- 
mitted. 

There  was  half  a  minute's  pause.  Helen,  with 
parted  lips  and  anxious  face,  watched  the  Doctor's 
countenance,  now  set  into  gravity.  He  looked  up 
suddenly  and  with  determination  smiled  at  her. 

"Bravo!"  he  cried,  dropping  the  patient's  hand. 
"I  always  said  you  had  the  best  constitution  in  the 
province." 


214      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

But  "  diable,  diable  ! "  was  what  he  was  crying  to 
himself;  " /lard  as  wire,  and  as  Jerky  as  a  telegraph 
needle  !  " 

"  What,  I  ?  "  said  the  Duke,  rising.  "  Oh,  I  'm  as 
strong  as  a  horse !  " 

He  strolled  over  to  the  window  and  stood  a  moment 
looking  out.  Dr.  Lebel  rolled  off  his  seat  and  fol- 
lowed him. 

"Don't  overdo  the  exercise  though,"  he  insisted. 
"You  've  grown  thinner." 

Beneath  them  the  garden  sloped  down  to  the 
chestnut  alley.  The  last  bloom  of  roses  starred 
hedge  and  standard.  The  scent  of  the  reseda  and  of 
the  late  honey-suckle  was  very  sweet  in  the  sunshine. 
From  a  hidden  sward  came  the  whirr  of  a  mowing- 
machine;  somewhere  out  of  sight  rose  the  song  of  a 
fountain :  it  was  all  very  peaceful  and  homelike. 
The  sky  was  very  blue;  the  green  and  the  flowers 
were  very  beautiful ;  the  air  very  still.  This  garden 
Cluny  had  loved  to  call  his  paradise,  but  deep  to-day 
was  the  melancholy  sweeping  in  upon  his  soul  as  he 
gazed  down  upon  it. 

All  at  once,  after  a  rigid  second  that  marked  the 
checking  of  a  shudder,  he  turned  abruptly  away:  a 
white  straw  hat  and  the  flutter  of  a  white  dress  had 
appeared  among  the  rose  bushes. 

"Ah,"  said  the  Doctor,  quietly,  "there  goes 
Mademoiselle!" 

Helen  came  up,  linked  her  arm  into  her  husband's, 
and   drew  him   again   to   the  window.     The   figure 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      215 

of  Joy,  busily  engaged  among  the  flowers  with  gar- 
den scissors  and  basket,  now  moved  distinctly  into 
view. 

"The  dear  child,"  said  Helen;  "look  at  her! 
Is  n't  she  pretty?  " 

The  Doctor's  words  and  smile  had  almost  reas- 
sured her  on  Cluny's  account.  She  had  recovered 
something  of  her  radiance. 

"I  wonder,"  she  went  on,  "how  I  ever  managed  to 
live  without  a  daughter.  See  how  she  settled  those 
roses  for  me,"  pointing  to  the  great  silver  bowl, 
"  A  fairy  could  not  have  done  it  better.  I  find  her, 
you  must  know,  taking  things  off  my  hands  in  the 
most  natural,  unobtrusive  way  in  all  the  world.  I 
call  her  *  my  delicate  Ariel. '  (I  know  you  have 
read  Shakespere,  Doctor).  And  then  her  tact,  her 
good  taste !  Always  the  same  pretty  modesty.  She 
is  shy,  of  course,  but  only  as  a  baby  princess  might 
be.  Don't  you  think  so,  Cluny?  Ah,  you  must 
agree  with  me  there,  at  least !  There  is  a  little  want 
of  enthusiasm  towards  my  daughter,"  she  explained, 
turning  again  to  the  Doctor,  "in  this  good,  spoiling 
husband  of  mine.  But  even  he  could  not  say  that 
she  has  ever  uttered  a  word,  given  a  look  that  one 
would  wish  ungiven,  unsaid." 

The  Duke,  after  an  imperceptible  hesitation, 
patted  his  wife's  hand. 

In  his  soul  just  now  an  infinite  weariness  had 
superseded  all  sense  of  the  bitterness  and  irony  of 
facts. 

"No,  dear,"  he  answered  with  extreme  gentleness. 


2i6       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"  I  foresaw  such  weeks,  such  months  even,  of  drill- 
ing for  my  little  recruit,"  continued  Helen,  gaily, 
her  eye  still  resting  on  the  rose  gatherer;  "such 
endless  litanies  of  hints,  such  moments  of  ludicrous 
agony  for  both  of  us.  Vain  fears  !  She  has  adapted 
herself  like  —  like  a  flower.  " 

With  swinging  step  a  tall  figure  now  crossed  the 
brilliant  sward  and  plunged  down  the  narrow  precip- 
itous path  between  the  clipped  fantastic  box-hedges. 
Helen  drew  back,  and  in  the  action  separated  herself 
from  Cluny. 

"Ah,"  said  she,  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh,  "there 
goes  George !  I  half  expected  that.  There  are 
others  who  want  my  sprite,  it  seems." 

Cluny  stood  a  moment  looking  fixedly  out,  with 
eyes  not  seeing  the  radiant  vision  but  intent  upon 
some  inward  spectacle  of  conflict.  Then  he  turned 
abruptly  on  his  heel  and  moved  towards  the  door 
without  a  word. 

Half-way  down  the  room,  however,  he  halted  and 
spoke. 

"I  must  go  and  change  these  dusty  things,  dear. 
A  tantot. " 

He  was  looking  horribly  tired,  the  Doctor  thought, 
(under  their  bushy  brows  Lebel's  sharp  eye  had  not 
lost  a  shade  of  his  patient's  face)  and  the  look  and 
tone  with  which  he  now  addressed  his  wife  struck 
him  painfully.  "One  might  almost  think  it  was 
remorse,"  he  pondered. 

"Oh,"  came  the  Duchess's  voice,  as  the  door 
closed  and  they  were  again  alone,  "how  happy  you 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      217 

have  made  me!  "  She  laid  her  white  hand  upon  his 
arm.     "You  don't  think,  then,  he  is  really  ill?" 

"Decidedly,"  thought  the  Doctor,  "the  woman's 
unobservant,  not  to  say  dense.  .  .  .  God  forgive 
me!  Come,  come,  Sebastian,  my  friend,  it's  time 
for  you  to  step  in." 

"  111  ?  "  he  said  aloud.  "  No,  he  has  got  no  disease 
that  I  know  of.  But  he  is  nervous.  He  is  very 
nervous,   Madame. "  * 

"What  do  you  mean.?"  cried  she,  and  her  finger 
tightened  on  his  shiny  sleeve. 

The  Doctor  looked  full  into  her  face  with  his  true, 
benevolent  gaze. 

"Now,  look  here,"  said  he,  "this  is  not  a  case  for 
me:  it's  a  case  for  you.  The  Duke  is  worried. 
How  can  I  tell  what  has  worried  him.?  Something 
has  got  on  his  nerves.  Saperlipopette!  A  very  little 
thing  will  sometimes  get  on  a  man's  nerves.  The 
great  Englishman,  Carlyle,  he  could  not  stand 
cocks;  and  T,  as  you  see  me,  I  can't  stand  the  smell 
of  incense.  Hey,  hey,  a  little  voyage  would  do 
him  a  world  of  good  —  a  voyage  with  you,  I  mean. 
Take  him  off  with  you  as  soon  as  possible  —  just  you 
two  alone  together,  you  understand  —  a  little  honey- 
moon trip,  en  par  tie  fine.  And  at  the  end  of  the  first 
week  (if  you  are  the  woman  I  think  you  are)  you  '11 
have  found  out  what  is  the  little  something  that  has 
got  so  desperately  on  his  nerves.  And  you  will  see 
to  its  being  removed  from  his  existence,  once 
for  all." 

Helen  let  her  hand  drop.      She  had  grown  pale; 


2i8       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

her  eyes  had  become  dilated;  the  corners  of  her 
mouth  had  fallen  like  that  of  a  puzzled,  troubled 
child. 

"  But,  Doctor, "  she  said  —  "  but  Doctor !  "  Some- 
thing intangible,  disturbing,  alarming,  seemed  to 
have  come  into  her  sheltered  and  serene  existence. 
It  had  no  shape  as  yet,  it  was  utterly  and  horribly 
unknown;  she  could  give  it  no  name,  but  she  dimly 
felt  its  presence. 

"  Well,"  insisted  the  Doctor,  "  is  it  not  a  nice  pre- 
scription .-'  Ask  your  husband  and  see  what  he  says. 
A  new  honeymoon,  aha!  " 

His  laugh  echoed  in  the  still,  lofty  room.  He 
reached  for  his  battered  hat,  waved  it  at  the  Duchess, 
and  plunged  out  of  the  open  window-door.  In  a 
second  he  was  back  again,  looking  in  upon  her. 

''  Partie  fine,  remember!"  he  cried  with  warning 
finger  emphasising.  "  No  aunts,  no  cousins,  no 
adopted  daughters  —  no  adopted  daughters  I  " 

His  trot  was  heard  crunching  away  on  the  gravel. 
Helen  stood  motionless;  she  felt  as  if  she  were  in  a 
dream. 

'^ No  adopted  daughters,''''  she  repeated,  half  uncon- 
sciously. And  the  menacing,  formless  terror  seemed 
suddenly  to  grow  darker  and  more  distinct.  Why? 
She  did  not  know! 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

THERE  was  perhaps  not  a  happier  man  in  the 
world  that  gorgeous  October  forenoon  than 
George  Dodd,  as  he  cut  across  the  sunlit  green 
and  dived  down  the  little  dark  cool  path  on  his  way 
to  the  rose-garden  below. 

From  his  window  he  had  spied  the  white  straw 
hat  and  the  white  fluttering  skirt,  and  the  oppor- 
tunity he  had  vainly  sought  during  the  last  two  days 
he  now  believed  was  given  into  his  hands  under  the 
most  favourable  conditions.  The  unsophisticated 
nature  of  this  man  was  full  of  inarticulate  poetry: 
the  perfect  day,  the  blue  sky  and  the  sunshine,  the 
perfume  and  the  colour  of  the  world  seemed  to  ex- 
press for  him  something  of  the  new  beauty  which, 
with  his  manhood's  new  dream  of  love,  had  lately 
come  into  his  life. 

Love  (we  have  so  often  been  told  that  it  has  be- 
come a  platitude)  is  blind.  But  is  this  true.-*  Is  it 
not  rather  that,  seeing  through  love's  eyes  we  see 
all  transfigured,  all  coloured  with  love's  own  light; 
that  we  see  life  as  a  place  of  happiness,  youth  as 
unendingly  beautiful,  hardships  as  matters  of  no 
moment,  humanity  as  kind,  faith  as  enduring .''     A 


220       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

state  of  affairs,  the  cynic  might  say,  far  more  dan- 
gerous than  blindness.  Yet,  perhaps,  if  ever  we 
reach  another  world  where  (as  we  are  told  also)  love 
only  rules,  we  may  find  that  it  was  a  true  vision, 
after  all,  of  what  might  have  been  below,  of  what 
can  be  hereafter. 

But,  alas,  that  the  bliss  of  paradise  in  this  still 
incomplete  world  should  be  so  shy  a  thing  !  Adam's 
bliss  was  put  to  flight  for  the  plucking  of  an  apple: 
Mr.  Dodd's  was  quite  shaken  by  the  mere  sight  of  a 
second  straw  hat  in  the  rose-garden.  This  was  a 
hard  structure  of  English  pattern,  encircled  by  the 
flaring  colours  of  the  last  automobile  club.  It  was 
reposing  at  the  very  back  of  the  Marquis  Totol's 
nut-like  head,  whereon,  in  consideration  of  the 
recent  wave  of  heat,  the  hair  had  been  cut  so  close 
that  it  presented  a  pale  mouse-like  surface.  And 
Totol's  originality  of  countenance  was  vastly  height- 
ened thereby. 

Squatting  upon  the  grass,  with  his  toes  in  the 
sunshine,  well  screened  from  any  observation  (de- 
filaded, as  the  military  engineer  would  have  it)  from 
the  highest  windows,  the  eternal  cigarette  between 
his  lips,  his  knuckly  hands  clasped  round  his  knees, 
the  Marquis  de  Lormes  was  to  all  appearances  enjoy- 
ing himself  to  his  utmost  capacity. 

Even  as  his  brother  rounded  the  corner  and  stood 
glaring  at  the  hat,  a  shrill  cachinnation  rent  the  air. 
Totol,  with  a  wriggle  of  exceeding  amusement,  was 
waggling  his  long  patent  leather  shoes;  and,  rub- 
bing  his    hands  up  and  down  his   shins,  displayed 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      221 

lengths  of  pink  and  white  circularly  striped  sock, 
well  tightened  upon  legs  at  which  any  decently 
built  skeleton  might  have  jeered.  And  to  the  utter 
rout  of  all  the  American's  paradisiacal  sensations 
for  the  moment,  a  silver  tinkle  of  laughter  came  to 
join  the  inane  and  offensive  cackle. 

Joy  was  laughing!  A  basket  of  roses  upon  one 
arm,  as  she  paused  in  the  act  of  clipping  a  great  La 
France  bloom  from  a  standard  tree,  blushing  and 
dimpling  under  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  she  made  as 
pretty  a  picture  as  a  man's  eyes  could  wish  to  rest 
upon.  And  Dodd's  heart  contracted  with  that  un- 
reasonable jealousy  of  the  uncertain  lover  which  in- 
cludes in  its  distrust  greybeards  as  well  as  school- 
boys, the  most  innocent  as  well  as  the  most  ineligible 
of  possible  rivals.  But  if  Joy  did  not  regard  Totol's 
presence  with  disfavour,  neither  did  she  show  aver- 
sion towards  the  new  arrival.  On  the  contrary, 
although  she  checked  her  laughter  with  one  of  her 
quaint  movements  of  secretiveness,  the  smile  of 
greeting  and  the  dimple  beside  it  were  not  to  be 
suppressed. 

Totol,  however,  with  the  peculiar  candour  of  his 
class,  openly  gave  vent  to  displeasure. 

"Go  away  do,  George,  there's  a  good  fellow! 
Mademoiselle  and  I  had  just  found  a  nice  little 
corner  by  ourselves.  Scat!  Isn't  that  American 
for  fiches  moi  le  camp  ?  Or  is  it :  *  get '  ^  Then  : 
Get,  my  dear ! " 

"My  dear  is  not  American,"  said  the  girl,  softly. 

She  flung  as  she  spoke  a  glance  at  the  sailor  which 


222       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

so  distinctly  invited  him  not  to  "get  "  that  half  his 
irritation  vanished  on  the  spot.  Never  before  had 
he  seen  her  so  deliciously  emancipated  from  her 
conventional  French  reserve.  He  came  close  up  to 
her.  She  seemed  the  centre  of  an  atmosphere  of 
rose  scent,  of  rose  bloom. 

"Allow  me,"  said  he,  placing  his  large  hand  over 
the  little  fingers  and  the  heavy  garden-scissors. 
"  Only  tell  me  which  you  want  to  have  cut." 

She  slipped  her  hand  daintily  from  his  touch. 

"  That 's  American  all  over,"  growled  Totol.  "  We 
were  just  as  happy  as  Philippines  before  you  must 
thrust  your  interfering  hulk  into  our  little  nook. 
Isn't  that  so,  Miss  Joy.-*  She  was  amusing  me  so 
nicely.  I  was  amusing  her  so  nicely.  And  if  you 
think  you  are  a  pretty  object  to  watch  snapping  roses 
—  well,  that 's  where  you  are  deceived,  my  dear." 

Joy  tittered  faintly,  and  George  Dodd  perceived 
for  the  first  time  a  pink  rose-bud  hanging  from  the 
button-hole  of  the  Marquis's  tennis  coat.  He  had 
always,  and  justly,  known  himself  as  a  level-headed, 
even-tempered  fellow :  thus  the  sudden  gust  of  fury 
that  came  over  him  was  even  more  surprising  to  him- 
self than  to  his  companions.  He  stuck  the  garden- 
scissors  into  the  earth  with  a  vicious  chuck  and 
turned  upon  his  relative. 

"Look  here,"  said  he,  in  a  vibrating  voice,  "if  it 
comes  to  getting,  I  know  who's  to  get!"  He  ad- 
vanced two  steps  and  flung  a  look  of  furious  con- 
tempt upon  the  squatting  figure.  "  You  —  you  little 
frogf! "  said  he. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      223 

Totol  instantly  took  two  or  three  leaps  over  the 
greensward  in  imitation  of  the  batrachian  just  men- 
tioned, until  he  had  reached  a  position  of  safety 
behind  Joy's  skirts,  where,  peeping  round,  he  un- 
reservedly gave  vent  to  an  ecstasy  of  mirth  over  the 
big  brother's  baffled  countenance. 

"Oh,  Mademoiselle,  I  am  so  frightened!"  he 
gibbered, 

"And  that,"  cried  Dodd,  with  an  unconsciously 
dramatic  gesture  of  scorn  —  "that  is  my  brother! 
Well,  they  talk  of  a  man  and  a  brother  —  a  monkey 
and  a  brother  ...    !  " 

Joy  laughed  aloud. 

The  Marquis  had  withdrawn  his  head  into  shelter. 
Presently  he  lifted  his  voice  in  plaintive  tone. 

"  A  monkey  now  !  Why,  then,  I  reckon,  brother, 
you  mean  to  say  a  kind  of  tree-frog." 

He  shot  out  his  head  to  see  the  effect  of  this 
observation.  Once  more  feigning  to  be  overcome 
with  terror,  he  shot  it  in  again,  chattering  his  teeth, 
rolling  his  eyes  and  shivering  violently. 

George  Dodd,  whose  patience  was  at  lowest  ebb, 
lost  the  last  of  it  as  the  little  man  now  clutched  at 
Joy's  skirt  with  his  long  thin  hands.  In  two  strides 
the  sailor  was  upon  the  Marquis.  In  as  many 
seconds  the  latter  was  lifted  from  the  ground  in  a 
vicelike  double  clutch  and  deposited  on  the  other 
side  of  the  box  hedge  —  not  brutally,  but  with  all 
the  firmness  required  to  carry  conviction. 

Totol  landed  on  his  knees  and  hands,  promptly 
turned  over  to  a  sitting  posture  and  stared  up  with- 


224       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

out  the  least  resentment  at  his  brother's  inflexible 
bronze  face. 

"Oh,  I  say,"  he  drawled,  in  his  most  pronounced 
English ;  then,  grimacing,  began  to  rub  his  hands 
and  knees. 

"You  had  better  get  up,  young  man,"  said  George, 
gravely.  Then,  overcome  by  sudden  remorse  at  his 
own  violence  before  a  woman,  he  hastily  returned 
to  Joy.  "I  'm  afraid  I  must  have  frightened  you," 
he  said  with  the  extraordinary  gentleness  of  the 
strong  man.      "  I  humbly  beg  your  pardon." 

He  glanced  under  the  shadow  of  the  hat  to  look 
at  the  girl's  averted  face :  it  was  pink  with  suppressed 
laughter,  dimpling  all  over.  She  shot  one  of  her 
quick  looks  at  him;  their  faces  were  very  close,  the 
sparkle  of  her  eyes  seemed  to  dazzle  him. 

In  the  sailor's  scheme  of  existence  true  women 
were  timid,  shrinking  creatures,  to  be  sheltered  by 
true  men  from  all  ugly  contacts.  He  was  as  much 
puzzled  now  by  her  enjoyment  of  the  situation  as  he 
had  been  a  moment  before  by  her  toleration  of  his 
brother's  familiarity.  But  he  had  reached  that  state 
of  love  where  the  most  contradictory  things  are  as 
fuel  to  the  flame.  A  week  ago  her  attitude  might 
have  made  him  hesitate,  reflect;  now  the  very  mys- 
tery of  her  personality  served  to  increase  the  fasci- 
nation. And  that  look  in  her  eyes  verily  intoxicated 
him. 

"Will  you  not  give  me  a  rose  too.-"  "  he  whispered 
in  her  ear.  Belonging,  as  it  has  been  said,  to  the 
simple  old  school,  this  was  obviously  the  natural 
preliminary  to  the  good  old-fashioned  proposal. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      225 

His  heart  was  beating  like  a  sledge-hammer. 
The  girl  drew  back  from  this  close  presence  and 
picked  up  her  basket  and  her  scissors,  replacing  the 
fallen  blooms  with  cool  hands  that  were  perfectly 
steady  and  precise  in  their  movements.  When  she 
turned  towards  the  waiting  lover,  she  was  once  again 
the  demure,  self-controlled  maiden  of  the  first  hour 
of  their  acquaintance. 

"If  you  please,"  said  she,  with  downcast  eyes, 
"  what  were  you  saying  .-•  " 

Her  manoeuvres  at  once  baffled,  irritated,  and  drew 
him  on.  Whereas,  in  theory,  he  was  giving  this 
girl  the  ideal  chivalrous  devotion  of  the  high-souled 
man  for  the  woman  of  his  choice,  in  practice,  he 
was  merely  loving  her  with  the  elemental  instinc- 
tive passion  of  the  uncivilised  man  for  the  mate  he 
would  if  necessary  capture  with  bow  and  spear. 

"Joy,"  he  began,  almost  fiercely.  A  cackle  rang 
out  behind  him.  He  turned  as  savagely  as  his 
Saxon  ancestor  might  have  turned  on  the  hunter  that 
dared  cross  his  chase.  But  the  absurdity  of  the 
mere  sight  of  Totol's  grin  promptly  disposed  of  any 
earnestness  in  the  situation.  What  is  there  in  this 
life  of  beautiful,  of  solemn,  of  tragic,  that  ridicule 
will  not  kill .-'  George  Dodd  felt  that  to  allow  that 
irresponsible  being  a  glimpse  of  his  own  strong 
heart's  working  would  be  not  only  desecration,  but 
positive  indecency.  All  heat  and  anger  died  out  of 
his  handsome  face.  A  good-huraouredly  contemp- 
tuous smile  came  back  to  bis  lips. 

"Are  we  not,  then,  ever  to  be  rid  of  you.-'  "  cried 
15 


226       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

he ;  turned  back,  to  include  the  girl  in  his  words, 
and  found  that  she  had  vanished. 

"He-he-he!"  commented  the  Marquis,  who 
scrambled  back  with  a  good  deal  of  difficulty  over 
the  hedge,  and  then,  squatting  on  the  sward  again 
in  his  favourite  attitude,  began  to  address  his  elder 
in  the  tone  of  the  man  of  the  world  explaining  the 
nature  of  things  to  the  backwoodsman. 

"Believe  me,  little  brother,"  he  said  judicially, 
"you  're  quite  off  the  spot.  Oh,  I  thought  I  should 
have  died  of  laughter  when  I  heard  you  asking  the 
little  girl  for  a  rose!  Your  tone  and  your  attitude, 
1830  style  all  over!  (Great  God,"  continued  M.  de 
Lormes,  in  a  paradoxical  aside,  "  how  it  does  bore 
me,  how  it  has  always  bored  me,  the  1830  style! 
The  poor  papa  was  of  that  period.  The  mamma 
less.  Rigid,  if  you  will,  but  not  romantic,  thank 
Heaven ! ") 

The  sailor  folded  his  arms.  He  had  quite  made 
up  his  mind  that  he  would  now  have  to  compass  an- 
other opportunity  for  himself,  Totol's  intervention 
having  successfully  spoilt  the  situation. 

"Better  let  the  little  idiot,"  he  thought,  "have  his 
fooling  out,  and  then,  perhaps,  he'll  give  us  a  day 
off." 

"  Go  on,  "he  went  on  aloud,  encouragingly.  "  It 's 
very  enlightening  to  hear  you  discourse." 

"You  see,  my  lieutenant,"  pursued  Totol,  "you 
may  come  from  the  New  World  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  but  you  are  old-fashioned :  vieux  jeu,  my 
friend,  vieux  Jeu  en  diable!    Your  game  is  played  out. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      iiy 

Now,  the  modern  woman  does  not  know  what  to  do 
with  your  kind.  She  has  no  use  for  the  likes  of  you 
(as  I  think  they  say  over  the  water).  The  puzzle  to 
me  is,"  said  the  Marquis,  drawing  up  his  face  into  a 
thousand  wrinkles  with  his  wise,  pathetic  monkey- 
look,  "  how,  at  this  time  of  day,  you  come  to  be  what 
you  are;  for,  judging  by  one  or  two  little  specimens 
I  have  seen,  you  can  raise  women  over  there  that 
ought  to  teach  you  a  thing  or  two ! " 

He  paused  with  a  grimace,  as  if  endeavouring  to 
crack  the  problem  between  his  back  teeth. 

"Well,"  said  the  American,  "  I  don't  exactly  know 
what  our  women  have  taught  me,  but  I  just  do  know 
that  it  is  a  sort  of  custom  with  us  men  out  there  to 
give  a  good  lesson  to  the  idiot  that  does  not  know 
how  to  treat  a  lady  with  respect." 

"Respect,"  echoed  Totol,  with  supreme  contempt. 
"My  good  George,  that's  exactly  where  you  make 
such  a  mistake.  We  have  not  time,  we  moderns, 
men  or  women,  to  bother  our  heads  about  respect. 
These  are  motor-car  days,  my  poor  innocent !  A 
pretty  object,"  he  chuckled,  "I  should  look  if  I 
were  to  go  in  for  respect !  My  faith,  they  'd  laugh 
in  my  face!  No,  no,  believe  me,  if  you  want  to  flirt 
in  your  manner,  to  play  the  comedy  over  the  gift  of 
a  rose  and  all  that,  look  out  for  one  of  your  own 
style.  Don't  fix  upon  that  little  red-mouthed  witch 
yonder:  for  she's  modern,  I  tell  you,  modern  down 
to  the  edge  of  her  little  pink  nails.  As  up-to-date 
as  I  am." 

Feeling  that  the  force  of  asseveration  could  go  no 
further,  Totol  paused  and  smiled. 


228       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Mr.  Dodd  grew  a  little  rigid  about  the  lips,  a 
little  pale  about  the  nostrils. 

"Indeed?"  he  said  sarcastically.  Had  he  been 
told  he  was  in  a  boiling  rage  he  would  sternly  have 
denied  the  fact. 

"  I  speak  of  Mademoiselle  as  a  woman,  you  may 
have  observed,"  Totol  resumed,  more  and  more 
charmed  with  his  dialectic.  "  I  abhor  young  girls, 
I  loathe  young  girls.  They  revolt  me.  That  little 
one  may  seem  to  you  a  young  girl:  that  's  all  you 
know  about  it.  It  's  a  mere  accident  of  circum- 
stances. In  reality  she's  a  woman,  modern  woman, 
and  that 's  why  we  understand  each  other.  He,  he! 
Did  n't  I  get  my  rose .''  Boned  one  out  of  her  basket ! 
Eh !  Took  a  red  one  first.  And  says  she :  '  This 
one  is  prettier.  Monsieur,'  and  holds  me  out  the 
pink  one.  Ah,  the  little  motor-car!  No  time  to 
stop  for  phrases.  Do  you  think  she  'd  ever  take  on 
with  a  good  old  slow-coach  like  you.-*  The  little 
spick-and-span  machine!  On  with  you!  On  with 
you!  Whizz!  B-r-r-r!  so  long  as  it's  amusing! 
That 's  the  way  with  her.  As  for  the  great  passion.? 
'  Oh  cut !  Apply  elsewhere.  Ta-ta !  '  Allans. 
y\xi  dlt.  Digest  all  this,  and  may  it  profit  you, 
young  man !  " 

Here  the  Marquis  made  a  dive  for  his  straw  hat, 
which  in  the  previous  scuffle  had  rolled  close  to  the 
hedge.  Beating  it  against  his  elbow  he  nodded  two 
or  three  times  good-naturedly  at  his  brother  and 
began  to  take  his  jerky  way  towards  the  house. 

"  Well,  of  all  the  confounded  little  grasshoppers  !  " 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      229 

ejaculated  George  Dodd,  as,  with  a  kick,  the  last 
flash  of  patent  leather  shoe  disappeared  round  the 
clipped  bushes.  "  What  can  have  kept  me  from  just 
nipping  him  in  two  to  put  a  stop  to  his  infernal 
chirp,  I  wonder?  Funny  thing  now,  she  should  have 
given  him  that  rose!"  When  it  came  to  analysis 
that  seemed  to  be  the  one  seriously  annoying  inci- 
dent of  the  morning.  "  I  suppose,"  further  reflected 
the  lover,  with  the  natural  effort  to  restore  the  equi- 
librium of  hope,  "I  suppose  she's  like  me.  She 
does  n't  think  such  a  goggle-eyed  shrimp  of  much 
account.  Well,  I  '11  have  it  out  with  her  this 
afternoon,  anyway." 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

HELEN'S  naturally  healthy  mind  had  not  yet 
had  time  to  shake  off  the  unwonted  morbid 
foreboding  left  by  the  Doctor's  words  when 
M.  Favereau  walked  into  the  room.  Accustomed  as 
he  was  to  Helen's  welcome,  never  had  he  seen  joy 
flash  more  unmistakably  into  her  face  at  sight  of 
him.  Yet  it  was  the  joy  of  hope,  of  relief:  and 
Favereau's  anxious  heart  contracted.  He  had  noted 
her  pensive  attitude  as  he  came  in;  nor  did  his 
quick  eye  fail  to  read  something  upon  her  face, 
all  smilingly  as  it  was  now  turned  to  him,  that  had 
never  been  there  before :  a  look  of  trouble.  So,  the 
shadow  of  the  unnameable  horror  had  fallen  upon 
her  already! 

Her  greeting  confirmed  his  surmises.  They 
clasped  hands. 

"My  dear  Favereau,"  she  cried,  "I  have  never 
wanted  you  more !  " 

"Oh,"  said  he,  "that  odious  Exhibition!  I  have 
been  chained  like  a  dog  to  it!  But  is  anything 
wrong  —  Cluny }  " 

Conscious  that  he  spoke  in  tones  which  betrayed 
his  previous  anxiety,  he  endeavoured  to  cover  his 
flurry  by  a  laugh.  She,  in  her  unobservant  way, 
perceived  nothing  unusual. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      231 

"Ah,  you  always  make  fun  of  me  for  my  anxiety 
about  Cluny !  "  she  said  earnestly.  "  I  am  afraid  I 
shall  always  be  as  bad  as  a  mother  over  her  first 
baby."  She  smiled  with  the  wistful  look  that  any 
reference  to  her  disappointed  motherhood  always 
brought  into  her  eyes.  "  You  will  laugh  at  me  now, 
of  course." 

"Oh,  no  doubt,"  said  Favereau,  entering  with 
some  success  into  the  role  she  assigned  to  him. 
"  Go  on,  my  dear.     What  has  happened  }  " 

"Nothing  has  happened,"  said  Helen.  She 
hesitated,  tried  to  smile  still,  though  her  lips  quiv- 
ered. To  formulate  her  trouble  seemed  somehow  to 
lend  it  reality.  "  I  don't  think  Cluny  is  like  himself 
since  you  left  us.  He  looks  ill,  though  Lebel  says 
he  is  not  ill  really."  Then  she  added  with  an  effort, 
the  pain  of  which  was  written  in  her  face :  "  Favereau, 
Lebel  thinks  that  something  has  got  on  Cluny's 
nerves." 

She  had  laid  her  hand,  in  her  earnestness,  upon 
her  old  friend's  breast.  He  knew  by  the  way  she 
gently  beat  it  that  there  were  tears  rising  which  she 
would  not  allow  to  flow.  The  corners  of  her  mouth 
drooped.  He  remembered  that  action  and  that 
piteous  look  from  the  days  of  her  childhood. 

"My  God,"  he  thought,  his  mind  reverting  ever 
to  the  central  emotion  of  his  life,  "would  it  not 
have  been  better  if  she  had  never  known  such  love 
as  this!  Humanity  is  too  frail  for  it.  Alas!"  he 
groaned  in  his  heart,  "what  would  it  be  if  she 
knew !  " 


232       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

He  laid  his  hand  protectingly  over  hers:  "Nerves, 
my  dear,  are  not  a  speciality  of  your  sex.  A  poor 
man  may  have  his  nerves  too;  and  it 's  astonishing 
how  much  disturbance  a  seemingly  very  small  thing 
will  cause  if  it  happens  to  get  '  on  them.  *  " 

The  voice  and  touch  seemed  instantly  to  reduce 
Helen's  troubles  to  mere  shadows. 

"  Why,  that  's  very  much  what  the  Doctor  says !  " 
she  exclaimed  with  renewed  brightness.  "  What  a 
wise  old  thing  you  are !  But  what  can  it  be,  I 
wonder,  that  Cluny  would  not  tell  me  ?  " 

Favereau  drew  all  his  beard  into  one  hand  and 
twisted  it. 

"I  wonder,"  said  he. 

"Oh,  Favereau,  think,  think,  help  me!  It  is 
most  important.  You  know  we  must  remove  it, 
whatever  it  be,  at  once." 

Favereau  sat  down,  clasped  his  hands  loosely  be- 
tween his  knees  and  reflected  —  reflected  as  deeply 
as  ever  he  had  done  in  his  life.  Then  he  made  up 
his  mind. 

"Well,"  said  he  —  "this  is  the  merest  supposi- 
tion, of  course  —  but  don't  you  think  that  you  make 
life  a  little  hard  for  Cluny?  " 

"  Favereau !  " 

"A  man  who  loves  his  wife,"  pursued  he,  un- 
moved, "occasionally  appreciates  being  quite  alone 
with  her.  For  some  reason  or  another  —  very  excel- 
lent reasons  no  doubt  —  you  never  seem  to  give 
Edward  that  treat." 

She  was  struck  to  the  heart,  struck  with  a  keen 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      233 

remorse,  at  the  same  time  with  a  keener  joy.  "  Take 
him  away,  by  himself,  you  tivo  alone. "  The  Doctor 
had  guessed  it  too!  And  did  Cluny  love  her  still 
so  foolishly,  so  sweetly?  She  could  not  speak. 
She  shot  an  eager  look  at  Favereaii  and  then  cast 
her  eyes  down ;  and  the  lovely  crimson  of  her 
woman's  blush  dyed  her  face,  while  the  old  radiant 
aureole  seemed  to  leap  back  to  crown  her. 

The  man  cast  down  his  eyes  too,  for  very  shame  of 
his  own  diplomacy  in  presence  of  this  single- 
mindedness. 

After  a  short  pause  he  resumed  doggedly:  "What 
I  mean,  Helen,  is  this :  between  convalescent 
artists,  delicate  priests,  aunts  and  cousins,  American 
and  otherwise,  unhappily  married  school-companions, 
not  to  speak  of  certain  prosy  old  individuals  like 
myself,  Edward  has  very  seldom  been  allowed  to 
have  you  to  himself  at  any  time.  And  now  "  —  he 
raised  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her  steadily  while  he 
spoke  with  deliberate  emphasis  —  "there  seems  to 
be  very  little  prospect  of  his  ever  being  able  to  do 
so  in  the  future  ...  at  least,  so  long  as  you  have 
this  adopted  daughter  about  you." 

"  What  was  it  the  Doctor  had  said:  ^  Above  all,  no 
adopted  daughters .' '  " 

"  Stop !  "  cried  Helen,  aloud,  putting  out  her  hand. 
"  Yes,  yes,  you  are  right ;  you  are  both  right.  How 
was  it  I  could  have  been  so  blind.?  Yes,  I  felt 
there  was  something,  something  between  us,  and  it 
was  —  the  child !  My  poor  love !  He  never  said 
one  word  to  me  against  the  project.     But  from  the 


234      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

moment  of  her  arrival  he  avoided  her.  Oh,  I  under- 
stand now!  I  thought  it  strange  that  he  should 
never  address  her  voluntarily,  never  change  his  cold 
ceremonious  manner  towards  her." 

She  paused,  and  it  was  evident  that  she  could 
spare  no  thought  to  the  complication  yet.  Her  mind 
was  luxuriating  in  the  exquisiteness  of  her  discov- 
ery. Her  lips  parted  into  a  smile,  half  motherly, 
half  bride-like. 

"My  Cluny!"  she  murmured,  half  to  herself. 
"And  so  he  is  jealous!" 

After  a  while  Favereau  spoke  again.  "Cluny," 
he  said,  "  is  not  above  all  the  weaknesses  of  man- 
kind, Helen." 

His  voice  rang  with  a  sort  of  warning  sadness 
which,  far  as  it  was  from  being  directed  against  her, 
brought  Helen  very  swiftly  back  to  a  sense  of  her 
own  shortcoming. 

"I  have  done  wrong,"  she  exclaimed.  "How 
could  I  have  let  anything  come  between  me  and 
Cluny!  "  A  second  after,  however,  she  cried  again, 
unconsciously  drawn  back  to  the  sweetness  of  the 
thought.  "Jealous!  My  poor  darling,  jealous!  I 
must  go  to  him." 

Favereau  caught  her  gently  by  the  arm  as  she 
turned  impulsively  to  leave  the  room. 

"My  dear  child,"  said  he,  anxiously,  "what  do 
you  mean  to  do.-*  " 

She  opened  her  mouth  to  speak,  then  hesitated. 

"Edward  is  a  man,"  Favereau  went  on,  "as  you 
know   better   than    I,    of   curious   fastidiousness   of 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       a^S 

mind.  If  you  let  him  think  we  have  all  been  dis- 
cussing his  low  spirits " 

Helen  flushed,  this  time  painfully.  "  I  do  nothing 
but  stupid  things,"  she  said.  "Help  me,  Favereau. 
Lebel  wants  me  to  go  right  away  with  Cluny,  just 
we  two.     What  say  you  .■'  " 

Favereau's  whole  countenance  became  illumined. 
"Capital!"  he  cried.     "Nothing  could  be  better." 

"So  the  Doctor  knows,"  he  thought.  "Well,  I 
am  glad,  I  think.     I  would  like  to  have  his  advice." 


CHAPTER   XXV 

MADAME  DE  LORMES  opened  the  door  and 
stood  for  a  moment  looking  sternly  down 
the  length  of  the  room,  dim  to  her  eyes  after 
the  brightness  of  the  terrace. 

Catching  sight  of  the  two  figures  by  the  window, 
she  bore  down  upon  them  like  a  ship  in  full  sail, 
blown  upon  the  wind  of  her  indignation,  her  silk 
skirts  ballooning  as  she  came. 

"Helen,"  she  exclaimed,  with  the  barest  acknowl- 
edgment of  Favereau's  salute,  "where  is  Anatole? 
I  insist  upon  knowing  where  Anatole  is?" 

"My  dear  Aunt,"  said  Helen,  with  an  hesitation 
not  unmixed  with  some  amusement,  "  I  really  cannot 
say.      I  thought  he  went  to  the  garden." 

"  To  the  garden ! "  echoed  the  Marquise,  in  her 
gravest  bassoon  note.     "  Alone,  Helen }  " 

"I  don't  know.  Aunt." 

"  I  have  looked  for  him  from  my  windows,  from 
the  corridor  windows,  from  the  balcony  and  from 
the  terrace,"  recited  the  anxious  mother,  her  voice 
rising  a  little  into  plaintiveness,  only  to  fall  again 
into  tragedy.  "It  was  in  vain.  His  bicycle  is  in 
the  hall.  And  the  motor,  I  ascertained,  is  in  the 
coach-house.       Anatole     never    walks,    and    never 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      237 

rides.  Ah  "  —  she  looked  out  of  the  window  — 
"what  do  I  see?" 

Her  fat  fingers  trembled  as  she  raised  her  eye- 
glass. 

Had  the  good  lady  stood  on  that  point  of  vantage 
but  a  few  moments  before  she  would  have  beheld 
the  edifying  spectacle  of  the  present  representative 
of  the  house  of  Lormes,  chef  dti  iiom  et  des  amies  as 
aforesaid,  performing  unusual  and  obligatory  gym- 
nastic exercise  over  box-wood  hedges. 

"  That  girl ! "  said  Madame  de  Lormes  in  her 
voice  of  doom,  as  she  caught  sight  of  Joy's  white 
hat. 

"But  not,"  said  Favereau  in  mockingly  soothing 
tones,  "not  with  the  Marquis.  Be  tranquillised, 
Madame.     That  is  only  Captain  Dodd." 

Madame  de  Lormes  drew  a  quick  breath  of  relief 
and  dropped  her  eye-glass.  But  almost  immediately 
she  raised  it  again  and  scrutinised  the  unconscious 
pair  below  with  renewed  severity.  Then  she  turned 
upon  her  niece. 

"I  hope  you  realise  what  you  are  doing,  Helen," 
she  said,  "  in  throwing  my  sons,  one  after  the  other, 
into  the  company  of  that  sly,  intriguing  schoolgirl." 

She  turned  and  swept  out  of  the  room,  unheeding 
Helen's  indignant  protest.  Favereau  looked  philo- 
sophically after  the  floating  violet  silks. 

"There  goes  another,"  he  remarked,  "who  does 
not  share  your  enthusiasm  for  Mademoiselle." 

Helen  laughed  a  little  angrily.  "Poor  Aunt!" 
she  said.     "Who  would  think  what  a  good  heart  she 


238       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

hides  under  all  these  absurd  prejudices  ?  "  Her  eyes 
wandered  back  to  the  rose  garden.  Presently  her 
face  lit  up  once  more.  "And  yet,"  she  said,  "yon- 
der is  the  probable  solution  of  the  whole  problem. 
Look  down  upon  them,  old  friend.  It  is  a  pretty 
sight." 

At  that  moment,  in  his  disturbed  paradise  below, 
George  Dodd  was  pleading  for  a  rose.  Favereau, 
as  he  was  bid,  gazed  earnestly  upon  the  two  for  a 
second;  then  instinctively  both  he  and  Helen  with- 
drew. Eagerly  smiling,  she  sought  his  sympathy 
and  approval.  But  the  man  was  too  deeply  engaged 
in  examining  the  idea  to  be  able  to  pronounce 
upon  it. 

"  Do  you    really   mean "  he   began   at   last, 

blankly. 

Helen  nodded.  "I  have  seen  it  coming,"  she 
said,  "from  the  very  first  day;  and  I  did  not  like  it 
at  all,  as  you  may  guess.  But  now,  oh,  I  don't 
know!  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  glad,  after  what  you 
all  tell  me.  I  am  afraid,"  she  added  after  a  pause, 
"that  my  aunt  will  be  furious.  But  all  things 
considered,  my  adopted  daughter  need  be  no  bad 
match  for  any  one. " 

Favereau  was  still  lost  in  conflict  with  the 
thought. 

"What  a  solution!"  he  was  saying  to  himself. 
"And  to  think  I  too  saw  it  coming  that  first  day! 
Yet,  so  long  as  it  saves  Helen  —  so  long  as  it  saves 
her!" 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

IT  was  not  till  after  luncheon  that  Favereau  was 
able  to  see  Cluny  by  himself.  But  during  the 
meal  he  had  sufficient  opportunity  to  study  the 
alteration  in  his  friend's  appearance  —  to  mark 
unmistakable  symptoms  of  severe  nervous  tension  in 
his  alternations  of  feverish,  voluble  gaiety  and  fits 
of  abstraction. 

No  sooner  were  they  alone  than  the  Duke,  with 
his  back  to  the  door  and  a  single  despairing  gesture 
of  both  hands,  burst  forth  in  a  sort  of  fury : 

"You  might  have  come  sooner.  How  could  you 
leave  me  alone  in  this  hell  —  in  this  hell !  So  long. 
A  whole  week  ! " 

The  gesture  and  the  tone  were  so  unlike  all  he 
had  ever  seen  of  the  man  that  Favereau,  with  a  new 
terror  at  his  heart,  caught  the  poor  out-flung,  ice- 
cold  wrists  in  his  warm  grasp  and  scrutinised  the 
pallid  face,  aged  it  seemed  at  that  moment  by  as 
many  years  as  there  were  days  since  they  had  last 
met.  But  the  eyes  that  returned  his  look  were  sane 
enough  —  too  sane,  perhaps,  indeed,  in  their  depth 
of  misery.  Whatever  he  still  nourished  of  resent- 
ment against,  of  contempt  for  Helen's  husband  van- 


240      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

ished  then  for  ever  from  the  elder  man's  mind  to  be 
replaced  by  pity,  by  something  almost  akin  to  re- 
spect. He  had  never  given  Cluny  credit  for  such 
depth  of  feeling.  This  remorse  was  almost  great 
enough  to  balance  the  sin. 

Still  maintaining  his  hold  he  led  the  Duke  to  his 
usual  chair  and  impelled  him  into  it.  Then  he  took 
a  seat  himself  behind  him  and  said,  with  deep  sym- 
pathy : 

"Are  things  then  so  bad?  " 

The  quiet  of  his  companion's  manner,  the  knowl- 
edge of  his  strength,  the  relief  of  being  able  here  at 
last  to  throw  off  the  strain  of  his  horrible  role,  went 
a  long  way  towards  restoring  Cluny's  self-control. 
It  was  calmly  enough,  therefore,  if  hopelessly,  that 
he  answered : 

"Bad.-*  It  is  unendurable!"  Then,  his  voice 
swelling  like  a  tragic  organ  note:  "My  fair  home," 
he  went  on,  "has  been  turned  into  a  hell,  horrible 
beyond  the  power  of  description.  And  I  made  it 
myself !  " 

"Alas!"  said  Favereau,  with  sad  philosophy, 
"that  is  the  very  essence  of  hell.  In  the  most 
appalling  catastrophe  that  can  be  conceived  there 
would  always  be  one  touch  wanting  to  its  complete 
hideousness  if  we  had  not  brought  it  about  ourselves. 
That  is  the  touch  that  makes  —  hell." 

Cluny  gave  a  sigh  that  only  utter  weariness  pre- 
vented from  being  a  groan.  And  Favereau,  with  a 
rapid  change  of  manner,  laid  his  hand  again  on  his 
arm,  and  said  in  a  tone  of  benevolent  practicality : 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      241 

"Well,  well,  my  poor  boy,  now  tell  me  all  about 
it;  and  let  us  see  what  can  be  done." 

A  piteous  light  of  hope  gleamed  again  in  Cluny's 
eyes.  He  was  glad,  too,  to  ease  his  heart  of  its 
accumulated  burden  to  the  one  being  on  earth  who 
knew  him  as  he  was. 

"Believe  me,"  he  began,  "others  have  never  yet 
seen  me  like  this.  I  never  failed  for  a  second  upon 
the  road  I  elected  to  take.  Ah,  Favereau !  "  —  he 
interrupted  himself  with  a  ghost  of  his  old  boyish 
way  —  "you  were  right,  as  usual;  I  chose  the  bad 
road." 

"  I  right .?  "  cried  Favereau,  stung  with  sudden  re- 
morse. "  Man,  it  was  I  pushed  you  into  it  by  both 
shoulders.  And  I  am  not  sure,"  said  he,  after  a 
moment's  self-examination,  "that  I  would  not  do  it 
again.  It  does  not  tally  with  any  theory  of  ethics, 
but  so  long  as  Helen  is  safeguarded,  upon  my  soul, 
Edward,  I  would  be  ready  to  commit  a  crime." 

The  fellow-sinner,  from  his  much  deeper  slough 
of  culpability,  could  not  but  feel  the  immoral  human 
comfort  of  this.  He  pressed  his  friend's  hand  with 
fingers  to  which  some  natural  warmth  was  returning. 

"Helen,"  he  cried,  "God  bless  her!  Her  confi- 
dence is  the  most  lovely  thing  and  the  most  heart- 
rending. Thank  God,  she  is  as  far  from  suspecting 
the  truth  to-day  as  she  was  a  week  ago.  But  "  — 
here  the  heavy  mantle  of  depression  began  to  fold 
itself  afresh  around  him  —  "she  knows  me  too  well 
not  to  feel,  not  to  have  felt  from  the  first,  that  there 
is   something    upon   me  —  something    between    us. 

16 


242       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Oh,  that  is  the  worst  of  all :  there  is  something  be- 
tween my  wife  and  me !  Her  sweet  eyes  are  always 
asking:  'What  is  it?  What  is  it?'  I  could  bear 
the  rest,  Favereau, "  cried  he,  rising  from  his  chair 
under  the  goad  of  his  trouble.  "  Yet  the  torture  that 
girl  inflicts  upon  me,  the  way  she  holds  the  sword 
above  my  head  as  if  by  a  thread  of  her  flaxen  hair 
from  the  edge  of  her  little  finger  .  .  .  it's  enough  to 
make  a  madman  —  a  madman  or  a  murderer !  " 

He  stopped  his  restless  moving  to  look  at  his 
friend;  and  the  back  of  the  high  chair  upon  which 
he  had  clenched  his  hands  trembled  and  creaked. 
Favereau  saw  that  indeed  he  had  reached  the  very 
limit  of  endurance. 

"Come,  Edward,"  he  exclaimed  in  his  old  mentor 
manner,  "this  is  morbid!  At  any  rate,  be  brave 
for  but  a  little  longer,  and  I  promise  you  that  deliver- 
ance will  come." 

He  would  have  given  a  great  deal  to  have  been 
able  to  make  some  more  definite  assurance.  But, 
while  he  hoped  much  from  the  result  of  his  recent 
hints  to  Helen,  the  whole  matter  was  so  complicated 
and  so  critical  that,  like  the  physicist  dealing  with 
saturated  solutions  or  unstable  compounds,  he  felt 
that  now  the  only  chance  of  warding  off  the  irre- 
vocable crystallisation  or  the  fatal  explosion  lay  in 
avoiding  the  slightest  shock,  the  most  delicate 
intrusion. 

Meanwhile,  Cluny's  voice  went  on  in  hoarse  com- 
plaint : 

"There  is  not  a  corner  in  my  house  where  I  feel 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      243 

safe  from  her;  not  a  moment  of  the  day,  unless  I 
place  miles  between  myself  and  my  home,  but  I  feel 
the  shadow  of  her  presence  upon  me.  In  company 
I  cannot  raise  my  eyes  but  I  find  that  look  with  its 
terrible  meaning,  its  claim  of  complicity,  fixed  upon 
my  face.  When  she  holds  out  her  hand  to  me,  night 
and  morning,  her  very  touch  carries  an  illicit  mes- 
sage. Ah,  my  God!  Here,  in  my  wife's  house,  in 
our  house,  our  home  !  " 

With  a  sudden  flash  Favereau  understood.  It  was 
the  wound  to  his  honour,  it  was  the  frightful,  vulgar 
treachery  of  the  situation,  the  violation,  unwilling 
though  it  was,  of  his  wife's  hearth,  that  was  killing 
this  man  who  had  hitherto  played  with  love  and  life 
so  heedlessly.  He  remembered  a  story  he  had  once 
read  of  a  woman  who  was  slowly  tortured  to  death 
by  the  consciousness  of  a  secret  stain  on  her  purity. 
And  as  he  looked  at  his  friend's  face  he  questioned 
within  himself  whether,  even  if  after  all  their  plans 
were  to  succeed,  Helen's  happiness  (bound  up  as  it 
was  in  her  husband's  existence)  were  not  in  any  case 
already  marked  by  doom. 

After  an  oppressive  pause  Cluny  arose  and,  pass- 
ing his  hand  across  his  forehead  to  brush  away  the 
gathered  drops  of  anguish,  began  that  restless  pacing 
with  which  his  associates  of  the  last  few  days  had 
already  become  but  too  familiar. 

"That  's  when  I  am  in  company,"  he  pursued,  as 
if  there  had  been  no  pause  in  his  speech.  "Alone" 
—  he  halted  beside  Favereau's  chair  and  struck  the 
back  of  it  with  his  hand  —  "I  tell  you,  Favereau,  I 


244      '^HE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

am  afraid  to  be  alone;  I  never  know  when  I  shall 
find  her  at  my  elbow." 

"But,"  said  the  elder  man,  "she  has  not  spoken, 
has  she?  She  has  not  dared  to  return  to  the 
subject? " 

"No,"  answered  Cluny,  "no."  His  pale  lips 
smiled  in  the  despair  which  had  passed  beyond 
sorrow.  "  It  is  worse  than  if  she  spoke.  Her 
silence  claims  me." 

Again  came  a  pause,  heavy  with  the  weight  of  the 
issueless  dilemma.  Once  or  twice  Favereau  opened 
his  lips  to  speak;  but  then  the  knowledge  of  all 
words'  futility  withered  them  upon  his  mouth.  At 
last  he  too  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  resolutely  he 
endeavoured  to  shake  off  the  paralysis  of  the 
encompassing  misery. 

"Come,"  he  cried,  "courage,  courage!  It  is  only 
for  a  little  while  longer.     You  will  be  rid  of  her." 

Cluny  turned  upon  his  friend  a  countenance  start- 
ling in  its  pallor,  and  laid  his  cold  hand  upon  his 
wrist. 

"Aye,"  he  said,  "but  how?  Look  here,"  he  went 
on,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "I  told  you  just  now  that 
the  worst  had  come  upon  me.  It  was  wrong :  there 
is  worse  still  to  come.  My  happiness  is  gone, 
Helen's  is  going.  God  help  us !  My  peace  of 
mind  is  gone,  my  self-respect,  my  rest,  all  that 
makes  life  worth  having,  gone !  And  now,  oh, 
Favereau,  now,  honour  is  going !  " 

"  You  mean " 

"  I  mean  that  Helen's  cousin  has  set  his  heart  upon 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       245 

Joy.  That  simple-minded,  honest,  honourable  fel- 
low; and  I  —  I,  his  kinsman,  his  host  in  a  foreign 
land  —  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

Favereau  drew  a  long  breath.  He  had  thought  to 
have  looked  the  ugly  situation  so  closely  in  the  face 
already  as  to  be  unappalled  by  any  of  its  aspects. 
But  now  he  too  hesitated  and  shrank.  Yet  it  was 
only  for  a  second.  Stronger  for  good  as  he  had 
been  all  his  life  than  his  friend,  it  now  seemed  as  if 
he  were  the  stronger  for  evil.  He  thought  of  Helen. 
"Let  honour  go,"  he  said  harshly. 

With  a  fierce  satisfaction,  this  fiat  once  pronounced, 
he  felt  that  indeed  the  matter  had  passed  beyond  the 
possibility  of  recall.  They  were  as  men  caught  in 
the  cog-wheels  of  a  relentless  machinery;  they  had 
themselves  set  it  in  motion,  they  were  powerless  to 
arrest  it  now.  To  be  honourable  towards  George 
Dodd,  to  try  and  save  him,  would  be  to  commit  the 
unforgivable  baseness  of  again  betraying  the  first 
victim.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  set  their 
teeth  and  bear  the  tearing  of  the  wheels  in  silence. 

As  he  stood,  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  lost  in  his 
dark  thoughts,  he  was  roused  by  the  nervous  start  of 
the  Duke,  whose  hand  was  still  on  his  arm.  Follow- 
ing the  direction  of  his  friend's  eyes,  he  looked  out 
through  the  high-mullioned  window  and  perceived, 
outlined  in  white  against  the  green  of  yew  hedges, 
the  silhouette  of  a  fair  head,  a  delicate  profile,  a  little 
throat  —  so  pretty  a  picture,  so  piteously  horrible  to 
them  both !  After  a  second's  breathless  waiting 
Cluny  drew  back  into  the  shadow  of  the  room,  just 


246      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

as  the  head  outside  turned  upon  the  slender  neck  and 
looked  deliberately  in. 

Meeting  Favereau's  stern  eyes,  with  a  movement 
half  anger,  half  fear,  like  a  beautiful  little  snake 
disturbed  in  her  basking  in  the  sun,  Joy  glided  away. 
And  stirred  to  an  unwonted  heat  of  passion  Favereau 
shot  out  a  long  arm  and  pulled  down  the  blinds. 

Then  he  turned  to  Cluny.  In  the  sudden  dimness 
of  the  room  the  two  looked  at  each  other :  there  was 
no  need  of  words. 

"Before  heaven,"  cried  Favereau,  "I  believe  the 
expiation  must  be  nearly  complete !  " 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

THE  girl  Joy  sat  upon  the  old  weather-worn 
marble  bench  in  the  deep  green  recess  cut  out 
of  the  living  hedge  of  laurel.  Supporting  her 
chin  upon  her  clasped  hands,  her  elbows  resting  on 
her  knees,  immobile,  she  brooded  like  a  small  white 
sphinx,  gazing  from  within  the  shadow  across  the 
broad  strip  of  sunlit  walk,  across  the  slope  of  green 
and  the  flaming  geranium  beds,  to  that  deeply- 
embrasured  window  where  a  blind  had  been  drawn 
down. 

Behind  her,  in  a  niche  cut  for  itself  also  out  of  the 
green  wall,  rose  a  slender  pedestal  whereon  sat  in 
marble  a  faun,  cross-legged.  Between  his  hairy 
goat's  knees  hung  one  careless  hand,  just  holding 
the  pipes.  The  long  dead  creator  of  that  smiling 
carven  face  had  contrived  to  throw  into  its  young 
man's  features,  under  the  budding  horns,  an  extraor- 
dinary expression  of  all-time  mockery.  This  crea- 
ture, with  the  wisdom  of  the  gods  and  the  passions 
of  the  animal,  grinned  out  upon  the  world  in  eternal 
cynicism.  Who  knew  as  well  as  he  that  man  walks 
with  the  beasts,  and  that  even  from  the  very  seat  of 
an  intellect  that  aspired  to  commune  with  the  gods 
there  grow  the  horns  of  earthliness? 


248       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

As  the  light  breeze  threw  dancing  shadows  across 
his  face,  his  smiling  marble  lips  seemed  to  be 
twisted  into  laughter,  the  opaque  eyes  to  flicker  in 
"  scorn  and  pity  and  awful  eternal  knowledge  "  of  the 
folly  of  all  things  in  this  fleeting  show  of  life.  .  .  . 
Pipe  while  ye  may,  poor  human  children !  Take 
what  you  can,  the  roses  pass  and  youth  is  but  a  day : 
dance  while  ye  can  to  my  piping  !  He  had  expounded 
his  pagan  allegory  for  more  than  two  hundred  years 
to  the  lives  that  fretted  their  little  span  away  be- 
neath his  shadow.  And  some  had  taken  his  advice 
and  some  had  not;  but  all  alike,  through  sunshine 
or  through  snow,  had  been  in  the  end  carried  past 
him  downhill  on  the  self-same  path  to  the  church- 
yard below.     And  he  smiled  on  ! 

To-day,  beneath  him  under  the  trembling  shadows 
of  the  leaves,  sat  one  who,  had  she  breathed  in  the 
good  old  days  when  gods  still  walked  the  earth, 
when  man's  passion  was  his  only  law,  woman's 
beauty  her  acknowledged  power,  a  moment's  joy  the 
gift  of  the  immortals,  might  well  have  danced  with 
this  faun  in  forest  glades,  and  found  sufficient  wis- 
dom in  his  piping  call. 

Here  sat  she,  unhappy !  Why  sJiould  she  be  un- 
happy, she  that  was  young,  and  strong,  and  beautiful  ? 

"Perfectly  absurd,"  said  the  faun.  "Had  she  not 
as  much  right  to  love  as  any  other?  And  if  she  loved 
one  man,  had  she  not  a  right  to  his  love  as  well  as  any 
other  who  loved  him  too  ?  That  ivas  only  com^non- 
sense,"  assured  the  stone  lips. 

And  that  other,  she  had  had  her  day.     She  was 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       249 

grotving  old.  Joy  had  counted  three  silver  hairs  on 
her  temples  that  very  morning.  The  old  must  make 
room  for  the  young  I 

The  wing  of  the  breeze  beat  a  branch  of  the  cypress 
tree;  a  quick  shade  swept  across  the  faun's  face, 
and  his  mouth  writhed  in  a  silent  convulsion  of 
laughter. 

''^ Nature' s law,  my  dear!''  he  chuckled.  "  World's 
law  —  the  only  law. " 

This  morning  Joy  had  been  so  hopeful.  The 
spring-like  beauty  of  the  autumn  day  had  got  into 
her  young  veins.  The  sunshine  had  been  bright, 
the  grass  green,  the  scent  of  the  roses  endlessly 
sweet.  It  seemed  part  of  the  very  design  of  the 
world  that  she  should  be  happy  again  as  she  once  had 
been. 

Down  in  the  rose  garden  she  had  tested  her  powers 
on  two  men :  a  strong  one  and  a  weak  one.  And 
she  knew  that  she  could  fool  them  both  if  she  chose. 
And  he,  he  had  loved  her,  he  loved  her  still !  Why, 
then,  should  they  not  be  happy  ? 

'^ My  very  tune,''  said  the  faun;  "/  have  set  my 
pipe  to  the  tvorld' s  desire." 

His  hafid  trembled  when  it  touched  hers.  He  grew 
pale  when  he  looked  at  her.  Why  should  he  avoid  her, 
but  that  he  too  was  Jiajinted  as  she  was  ?  Why  did  he 
not  go  away  ?  Aye,  why  not  send  her  away  if  he  did 
not  love  her  ?    Love  her  ! 

The  little  pagan  flushed  from  paleness  into  deep 
rose-red  and  shook  from  head  to  foot  as  she  thought 
of  the  love  that  was  in  her. 


250      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

The  faun  nodded  at  her:  " Evoe  !"  That  was  the 
sort  of  love  he  could  tell  of.  The  loves  of  men  and 
maids,  of  mortals  and  gods,  love  that  recked  of 
nothing  but  its  own  glory,  that  made  such  joys,  such 
hates,  such  deaths,  that  they  were  still  sung  of,  and 
would  still  be  sung  of  when  even  the  last  atom  of 
his  stone  should  have  crumbled  to  the  shapeless 
dust. 

But  he  had  pulled  down  the  blind.  It  had  been 
pulled  down  angrily,  as  if  to  shut  her  out.  It  had 
been  pulled  doivn  relentlessly.  It  had  seemed  to  shut 
out  all  the  simsJmie  that  had  been  flooding  into  her 
heart :  to  silence  all  the  hope.  What  bird  can  sing  in 
a  darkened  room  !  She  had  once  seen  them  thus  pull 
down  the  blind  of  a  room  where  lay  a  corpse,  and 
everything  had  grown  so  dark,  so  black!  Her  heart 
shuddered  with  a  great  fear.  Oh  710,  their  love  was 
not  dead !  It  was  young,  strong ;  she  had  only  Just 
begun  to  love.      She  had  so  much  to  give  ! 

Joy  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  turned  in  the  fury  and 
agony  of  her  passion  upon  the  faun. 

"God  cannot  be  so  cruel,"  she  cried;  "we  must 
be  happy  again  !  " 

She  flung  out  her  hands.  But  the  faun  was  cold 
and  hard.  His  smile  was  meaningless.  He  was  a 
mere  lump  of  stone.  The  faun  knew  nothing  about 
God. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

HE  sought  her  with  dogged  patience,  set  in  his 
purpose.  "I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  stand  another 
day  of  it,"  he  said. 
As  to  most  of  those  who  have  not  frittered  away 
their  energies  for  love  in  myriad  different  channels 
of  indifferent  depths,  the  master-passion  had  come 
to  George  Dodd  as  an  overwhelming  tide.  There 
was  every  reason  why  the  hard,  practical  man  in  him 
should  hesitate  before  the  idea  of  such  a  union.  He 
had  often  said:  "What  had  a  sailor  to  do  with  a 
wife.!*  His  bride  is  the  sea!"  With  that  longing 
for  a  home  of  his  own  implanted  in  every  wholesome 
nature,  he  had  hitherto  deliberately  sacrificed  such 
joys  to  his  ambition;  none  knew  better  from  obser- 
vation than  he  what  a  clog  a  wife  and  little  ones  are 
to  the  feet  of  one  who  would  advance  rapidly  in  his 
profession.  Moreover,  he  had,  in  an  intensified 
degree,  the  national  love  of  freedom.  Early  cast 
upon  his  own  resources,  he  had  been  all  his  life 
accustomed  to  judge  and  act  from  the  personal  point 
of  view.  "  I  must  have  elbow-room  "  had  been  a 
favourite  expression  of  his.  And,  striking  for  fame 
and  fortune,  he  had  done  so  hitherto  with  a  feeling 


252       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

of  absolute  independence.  To  his  mind  the  thought 
in  danger:  "If  I  fall,  no  one  is  the  worse  for  it," 
amply  compensated  for  the  fact  that  in  victory  no 
one  would  be  the  more  joyful  for  it. 

The  manner,  moreover,  in  which  he  had  been 
thrown  among  strangers  from  his  childhood  by  his 
mother's  foreign  marriage  had  given  him  a  violent 
prejudice  against  mixed  alliances.  "Americans 
should  marry  Americans;  the  country  is  big  enough 
for  choice,  and  as  a  race  we  are  good  enough  for  each 
other.  That  is  so."  This  had  been  another  of  his 
hard  and  fast  rules  for  the  guidance  of  self  and 
others.  But  now  —  well,  he  had  already  experienced 
the  "accidents  of  war"  before  which  no  previous 
theory  can  stand,  when  an  elemental  spirit  of  fight  or 
an  inborn  flash  of  genius  alone  can  retrieve  the  situ- 
ation. To-day  he  was  confronted  by  the  "  accident 
of  love,"  and  he  realised  that  before  this  elemental 
human  passion  no  built-up  wall  of  cool  resolve,  no 
well-laid-out  scheme  of  life  can  stand.  Under  the 
pulse  of  his  enkindled  blood  he  saw  but  one  course 
before  him:  to  carry  his  heart's  desire  at  whatever 
cost.  And  he  as  little  thought  of  pause,  of  possible 
failure,  of  future  disability,  as  does  the  soldier  in 
his  rush  to  triumph  or  annihilation. 

Well  might  the  stone  faun  grin,  year  in,  year  out, 
from  over  his  crossed  goat-legs,  upon  this  old,  old 
world:  so  self-complacently  enlightened,  so  theoret- 
ically advanced,  so  aesthetically  civilised  —  so  ele- 
mentally the  same ! 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       0.^3 

Among  the  many  tools  of  which  the  ambitious 
sailor  had  made  use  for  the  fashioning  of  his  career 
was  the  study  of  languages,  for  which  reason  indeed 
he  had  now  been  specially  selected  for  his  present 
mission.  And  characteristically  enough,  having 
kept  himself  sternly  aloof  from  all  personal  acquaint- 
ance with  the  sordid  passions  of  life,  he  had  a  secret 
romantic  love  of  poetry. 

As,  in  reward  of  his  peregrinations,  he  at  length 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  white  figure  in  the  green 
recess  at  the  end  of  the  terrace,  a  line  of  Heine 
which  he  remembered  to  have  haunted  him  —  oddly 
enough  with  its  sheer  music  of  words  —  one  full, 
purple,  solitary  night  on  tropical  seas,  as  he  tramped 
his  deck  till  dawn,  now  sprang  again  to  his  mind 
with  a  sudden  intimate  meaning: 

"  Die  Kleine,  die  Reine,  die  Feine,  die  Eine,  die  Eine  !  " 

If  ever  a  poet  out  of  his  own  heart  sang  the  love 
of  another  man,  surely  the  Jew  had  sung  the  sailor's 
wonderful  sweetheart:  Little  —  just  as  high  as  his 
heart  —  child  to  him  at  once  and  woman  !  Dainty? 
Why,  there  was  no  word  in  his  own  tongue  to  express 
this  perfection  of  daintiness,  save,  indeed,  now  the 
one  word:  Joy.  Pure!  His  heart  contracted  with  a 
feeling  that  was  almost  pain  at  the  thought  of  his 
beloved's  exquisite  purity,  an  attribute  so  divine  in 
woman,  so  personal  it  seemed  to  herself,  so  immeas- 
urably above  his  rough  man's  nature,  that  even  to 
dare  ponder  upon  it  became  a  sort  of  desecration. 
The  Pure,  and    last  of   all  —  oh,   wonderful    sickly 


254       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

poet  to  have  thus  cried  the  cry  of  the  strong  lover's 
soul !  —  the  One,  the  only  One  ! 


Had  she  seen  him  coming?  She  showed  no  sur- 
prise; showed  neither  pleasure  nor  the  reverse; 
merely  shifted  her  attitude  a  little,  as  he  took  a  seat 
beside  her,  and  turned  a  face  supported  on  the  palm 
of  her  hand  sufficiently  in  his  direction  to  bring 
him  under  the  glance  of  her  eyes.  These  curious 
eyes  of  hers  were  so  nearly  hidden  under  the  droop- 
ing lids  that  all  he  could  see  of  them  between  the 
thick  lashes  was  a  long  liquid  gleam.  It  was  only 
afterwards  that  these  details  came  back  to  his  mind. 
Then  he  merely  knew,  by  the  thick  beating  of  his 
heart  and  the  stress  of  his  emotion  that  he,  the  man, 
was  at  the  mercy  of  this  little  crouching  wisp  of  a 
creature  that  he  could  have  caught  up  in  his  arms 
and  run  away  with,  laughing. 

"Miss  Joy,"  he  began,  after  a  pause  as  long  as  a 
century  to  him,  "  I  have  been  looking  for  you  this 
hour." 

The  dark  stars  of  her  pupils  slid  away  from  their 
cool  contemplation  of  his  face  to  seek  once  more  the 
window  where  the  blind  was  pulled  down. 

George  Dodd  drew  a  long  breath.  He  did  not 
waver  in  his  determination;  but  the  preliminaries 
seemed  to  him  diabolically  difficult.  Clutching  the 
ledge  of  the  bench  with  both  hands  he  began  afresh : 

"You  weren't  hiding  from  me,  were  you?  " 

The  girl's  eyes  went  back  to  him.  The  long 
lashes  were  lifted  a  little.  The  childish  mouth 
parted. 


AH,    YOU    DON  T    KNOW    -^TIAT    A    MAN    FEELS    BEFORE    SUCH 
A  BEING  AS  YOU  !  '  " Pf^ge  2  J  J. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       i^S 

"Hiding?"  she  repeated,  composed  to  the  verge 
of  impertinence. 

"You  are  not  afraid  of  me?"  asked  the  sailor, 
incoherently  tender. 

Joy's  short  white  teeth  flashed  for  a  second.  Then, 
reflectively  and  slowly,  as  if  weighing  the  truth  of 
her  own  words,  she  said  : 

"  I  don't  think  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  afraid. 
Have  I  ever  been  afraid  of  any  one?  I  do  not 
think  so." 

No  sooner  were  the  words  spoken  than  the  memory 
of  one  —  a  horrid,  wise-eyed,  grey-bearded  man  — 
whose  look  she  could  not  meet,  whose  very  pres- 
ence seemed  to  paralyse  her,  struck  chill  upon  her 
heart.  She  shivered.  The  man  beside  her  saw  the 
sudden  alteration  of  her  features,  felt  her  tremble; 
his  passion  leaped  out,  goaded  by  tenderness. 

"  Yes,  you  are  frightened !  Good  God,  afraid  of 
me  !  Look  at  me :  I  am  a  rough  strong  fellow,  yet 
it  is  I  who  am  frightened.  Ah,  you  don't  know 
what  a  man  feels  before  such  a  being  as  you  !  My 
dear,  I  can't  make  pretty  speeches.  I  —  I  —  Joy,  I 
love  you !  " 

He  held  out  his  great  brown  hand,  and  indeed  it 
shook. 

Joy's  eyes  now  rested  upon  it.  His  words  echoed 
idly  enough  in  her  ears.  The  tempestuous  circling 
of  her  thoughts  round  a  single  central,  towering 
idea,  caught  them,  tossed  them,  as  the  waters  of  the 
whirlpool  catch  and  toss  straws  and  broken  twigs, 
only  to  cast  them  finally  away. 


256       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Love.  Love  ?  Love  !  What  could  this  one  know 
of  the  love  I  know  ?  Oh,  zvhat  ngly,  coarse  hands  1 
The  nails  have  been  broken,  the  veins  stand  out  like 
cords.  My  lover  s  hands  are  the  hands  of  a  king. 
When  he  laid  his  hand  upon  my  cheek,  his  touch  was 
like  music.  I  kissed  his  hand,  then  he  let  it  lie  in 
mine.  He  has  such  long  fiiigers,  and  they  taper.  The 
nails  are  like  almonds.  I  remember  how  I  looked  at 
his  palm  and  then  I  kissed  it.  My  prince  I  And  did 
he  think  I  should  not  know  it  again  ?  Ah,  but  I 
kissed  it  again  ! 

"I  love  you,"  repeated  Dodd,  drawing  nearer  to 
her.  He  saw  that  her  whiteness  had  become  col- 
oured as  from  an  inner  crimson  flame;  and  he 
took  heart  of  grace,  stretched  out  his  arm  to  enfold 
her,  but  then  paused  tremulously  on  the  brink  of 
bliss  for  chivalrous  awe  of  her  delicate  maidenliness. 

"Do  you  love  me?  Do  you  love  me?"  he  cried, 
varying  his  note  unconsciously. 

It  was  as  if  the  crimson  flame  flickered  and  died 
out.  The  dark  eyes  in  the  pale  face  looked  at  him 
full;  but  they  were  now  as  if  veiled,  and  told  him 
nothing  of  the  soul  within.  Nevertheless  he  could 
not  but  feel  her  detachment,  and  for  the  first  time 
an  icy  doubt  of  success  gripped  him. 

"Speak,  answer  me,"  he  pleaded.  "At  least  tell 
me  if  I  may  hope." 

After  a  wait,  as  though  the  cry  had  taken  some 
time  to  reach  her  in  the  midst  of  her  own  thoughts, 
Joy  said,  with  a  sort  of  deliberate  impatience: 

"  What  is  it  you  want  of  me ?     What  can  I  say?  " 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       i^l 

"I  want  you  for  my  wife,"  said  the  other,  with  his 
square  simplicity.     "  I  want  you  to  say  you  love  me." 

All  at  once  there  shot  a  light  into  her  veiled  eyes, 
a  new  flame  so  eager  that,  quick,  the  long  lids  must 
droop  to  hide  it.  Her  slight  frame  swayed  under  the 
pulse  of  a  new  hope. 

He  (there  was  only  one  being  beside  herself  in  her 
world  :  the  rest  were  shadows. )  —  Jie  should  be  made 
to pidl  up  that  blind!  Ah,  there  were  tilings  no  love 
could  bear  !  Did  she  not  know  it?  She  had  learned 
many  tilings  this  last  month;  she  had  learned  the 
strengtJi  of  love' s  endurance ;  she  had  learned  its  limit. 
He  might  be  silent  so  long  as  he  knew  her  there,  safe, 
his  oiun  if  hd  chose.  But  now  she  would  make  him 
speak y  if  it  was  only  a  word  that  he  and  she  alone  could 
understand. 

"I  may  hope,  then,"  cried  the  sailor,  joyfully,  as 
he  marked  how  she  thrilled  and  flushed  and  wavered. 

She  replied  dreamily:  "I  don't  know." 

He  caught  her  hand.  "That  means "  he  ex- 
claimed joyfully.  There  seemed  now  but  the  breadth 
of  a  second,  but  a  span  of  space  between  him  and 
those  pure,  fresh  lips,  yet  the  next  instant  found  him 
alone  upon  the  bench. 

She  had  disengaged  herself  as  quickly  as  a  bird. 
He  dared  not  close  his  great  grasp  upon  her,  and 
she  was  free.  A  pace  away  from  him  she  stood, 
smiling  and  dimpling. 

"Ask  the  Duke,"  she  said. 

It  was  very  sweet.  She  was  adorable.  But  he 
wanted  his  kiss  —  that  kiss  he  had  dreamed  of  day 

17 


258      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

and  night  since  that  first  evening;  he  wanted  it  more 
madly  than  he  had  ever  wanted  anything.  But  as 
he  sprang  to  claim  it,  once  again,  in  some  indefin- 
able way,  she  held  him  back. 

"Ask  the  Duke,"  said  she  again,  slowly. 

He  gazed  after  her;  did  not  attempt  to  follow  her 
as  she  moved  about  with  deliberate  steps,  passing  in 
and  out  of  shadows  and  sunshine,  and  finally  standing 
for  a  second  to  look  back  at  him  once  again,  an  airy 
white  silhouette  against  a  patch  of  blue  sky.  Then 
she  was  gone. 

The  sailor  stood  and  stared.  He  felt  baffled, 
puzzled.  But  man,  born  out  of  mystery,  surrounded 
by  mystery,  going  to  mystery,  is  ever  most  allured 
and  drawn  by  mystery.  Moreover,  from  all  time, 
the  desire  is  greater  than  any  possible  realisation. 
This  attraction  for  the  unknown,  for  the  elusive 
ideal,  seems  a  law  of  our  human  life  leading  the 
seeker  to  revelation  or  perdition.  All  creative  arts, 
all  music,  all  poetry  or  science,  all  glory  of  love, 
all  in  fine  that  is  beautiful  and  high,  comes  to  us  in 
and  through  this  striving,  and  that  is  revelation. 
The  perditioji  comes  when  the  ideal  has  flown :  when 
the  mystery  is  solved  or  believed  to  be  solved. 

George  Dodd  now  was  ten  times  more  enamoured, 
ten  times  more  set  on  his  purpose  than  he  had  been 
an  hour  ago ;  and  indeed  he  was  far  enough  from  the 
solution  of  his  mystery. 

"I  take  it,"  he  said  to  himself  at  last,  after  re- 
viewing as  well  as  his  troubled  thoughts  would  allow 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      isg 

him  the  few  words  he  had  been  vouchsafed,  "  I 
take  it  it 's  the  French  custom.  Silly  sort  of  custom 
I  call  it  —  silly  as  all  the  rest.  .  .  .  The  little  fay  ! 
*  Ask  the  Duke,'  she  said.  But  she  stopped.  Aye, 
she  stopped  twice  and  looked  back  !  George  Dodd, 
I  believe  you  've  been  a  fool.  You  could  have 
had  that  kiss." 

He  fell  back  upon  the  bench  again  and  into  a  pas- 
sionate reverie.  Over  his  head  the  faun  smiled  on, 
with  young  lips  and  old  eyes. 

"Great  heaven!"  cried  the  sailor  suddenly,  and 
sprang  to  his  feet.  "  What  am  I  doing  here .?  Love 
does  make  a  pretty  kind  of  fool  of  a  man.     Well, 

I  '11  go  and  ask  that  Duke  —  and  then "     His 

strong,  clean-cut  lips  broke  into  a  smile. 

What  a  rare  tune  the  faun  could  have  piped ! 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

IN  the  library  sat  a  tweed-clad  Nessie  with  her 
feet  on  the  fender,  pointing,  ludicrously  minute, 
towards  the  faint  wood  fire  (for  misery  had  made 
her  cold,  despite  the  glorious  sunshine);  in  one  hand 
was  a  pocket-handkerchief,  large  enough  to  receive 
five  or  six  moderate-sized  tears,  in  the  other  a  cup 
of  tea.  These  she  alternately  brandished  at  a 
patiently  sympathetic  Helen. 

"But,  really,  Nessie,"  the  latter  was  repeating  for 
the  tenth  time,  "  is  it  not  foolish  of  you  not  to  wait 
for  the  answer  to  Lebel's  telegram?  " 

"I  guess  there  being  no  answer  is  a  bad  sign," 
cried  the  anxious  wife  and  rattled  her  tea-cup 
vindictively.  "I  hope  you'll  feel  sorry,  Helen, 
when  you  find  out  how  you  misjudged  a  poor  dying 
man.  He  mayn't  have  been  a  pattern;  but,  after 
all,  you  should  n't  forget  that  he  is  my  husband." 

She  drew  up  her  little  figure  and  finished  her  cup 
of  tea  with  a  dignified  gulp.  Then  she  deposited  it 
on  the  table,  and  taking  the  pocket-handkerchief  by 
two  corners  held  it  up  ready  for  emergencies. 

"  If  you  come  to  think  of  it,"  she  whimpered,  "he 
must  be  pretty  bad  to  have  asked  for  so  little.  He 
m  —  m  —  must  have  been  quite  delirious  !  " 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      261 

The  scrap  of  a  pocket-handkerchief  was  here  flung 
over  the  scrap  of  a  face,  and  Madame  Rodriguez  sur- 
rendered herself  to  woe  just  as  Jean  the  footman  made 
his  entrance  with  the  expected  dispatch  upon  his 
salver. 

"A  telegram  for  Madame.  Monsieur  le  Docteur 
sent  it,"  he  explained,  rolling  his  eyes  with  all 
the  French  servant's  open  sympathy  for  his  supe- 
rior's distress. 

The  Duchess  took  the  folded  slip  and  dismissed 
the  man  with  her  friendly  gesture.  Then  she  laid 
the  missive  on  Nessie's  knee.  The  small  olive 
fingers  clutching  the  handkerchief  were  shifted 
sufficiently  to  allow  a  corner  of  a  black  eye  to  peer 
down  suspiciously  at  the  blue  document. 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  said  the  Duchess,  unfailingly 
amused  by  her  friend's  odd  gestures,  which  always 
reminded  her  of  some  small,  innocent  animal:  bird, 
kitten,  or  squirrel.  Many  a  time  had  Helen  seen 
her  beloved  squirrels  peer  down  at  her  from  the  trees 
in  the  park  with  just  such  an  expression  of  uncon- 
sciously comical  doubt.  "Don't  be  afraid,"  said 
she;  "it  must  be  good  news,  or  Lebel  would  not 
have  sent  it  to  us  like  this." 

Here  both  the  black  eyes  came  into  view.  They 
looked  at  Helen,  blinking  once  or  twice.  An  ex- 
pression of  relief,  succeeded  by  a  dawning  fury,  first 
relaxed  then  tightened  the  pretty,  impish  face. 

Madame  Rodriguez  shook  the  telegram  open  and 
sprang  to  her  feet.  Her  features  became  suffused 
with  a  dark  flush.  She  opened  her  mouth  and 
choked  silently. 


262       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"  Nessie  !  "  The  Duchess  was  frightened.  Could 
the  Doctor,  after  all,  have  sent  her  evil  tidings  so 
brutally  ? 

Nessie  gave  a  gasp,  then  broke  into  harsh,  loud 
laughter. 

"Famous!  Oh,  famous  !  "  she  cried.  "Listen." 
Her  hands  shook  as  she  lifted  the  sheet  and  read 
aloud,  her  voice  rising  almost  to  a  shriek.     "  Listen : 

"  *  No  case  typhus  in  any  hotel  here.  Gentleman  called 
Rodriguez  perfectly  well.  At  present  in  Casino  pigeon- 
shooting  match.     Evidently  some  mistake.  —  Schreiber.'  " 

"Dear  Nessie,"  cried  Helen,  and  encircled  her 
friend  with  her  arms,  "  I  am  so  glad  !  " 

"Glad?"  echoed  Nessie.  "Glad!"  Her  gather- 
ing fury  overflowed ;  she  flung  off  the  embrace. 
"Helen,  you  make  me  tired.  Glad,  indeed!  Glad 
to  see  me  bamboozled  and  insulted  and  betrayed  by 
that  —  that  nigger  !  Oh,  oh  !  "  She  beat  the  air 
with  her  hands.  "I'll  never  believe  another  word 
he  says  —  no,  not  if  he  were  a  corpse  before  me. 
Oh,  oh,  oh  !  " 

"Hush!"  cried  the  Duchess.  "Take  care,  my 
dear.     If  the  child  were  to  come  in." 

If  one  thing  is  repugnant  to  an  habitually  self- 
controlled  nature  it  is  the  loss  of  personal  dignity  in 
another.  Helen's  tone  was  rebuking,  and  Nessie 
was  quick  to  feel  it  so.  She  turned  off  the  rattling 
artillery  of  her  anger  with  the  most  surprising  sharp- 
ness and  glared  a  full  five  seconds  in  silence.  Then, 
with  a  subdued  intensity  of  indignation  every  whit 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      263 

as  effective:  "Oh,"  she  remarked  vvitheringly,  "I 
won't  pervert  your  precious  innocent.  I  '11  go  to  my 
room.  Yes,  yes,  I  will,  I  '11  go  and  write  to  my 
lawyer."  She  rose.  "As  for  that  child,  as  you  call 
her,"  she  continued,  "believe  me,  it  isn't  I  that 
could  teach  her  anything,  good  or  bad.  .  .  .  She  's 
the  only  creature  I  ever  saw  that  would  about 
match  Rodriguez  for  slyness." 

The  door  was  banged.  Every  recognised  feminine 
petulance  was  Nessie's,  but  she  invested  them  with 
a  fresh  briskness  quite  her  own. 

Helen  flushed  angrily  in  her  turn.  "  Oh,  poor 
Nessie  !  How  unjust,  how  wicked  !  How  sorry  she 
will  be  in  a  minute  or  two  ! " 


CHAPTER   XXX 

**  1%  /T-A-Y  I  ask,"  said  the    Marquise  de   Lormes 

XVJL  with  elaborate  pohteness,  "  if  that  was  the 
young  person  whom  they  call  Mademoiselle 
Gioja  who  was  sitting  with  you  just  now?" 

Sailing  down  the  terrace  at  the  end  of  her  after- 
noon constitutional,  she  had  come  upon  her  elder 
son  at  the  very  moment  when,  fired  with  new  resolu- 
tion, he  was  about  to  seek  the  Duke. 

The  purple  silk  was  kilted  up  at  intervals  by  the 
simple  expedient  of  loops  of  elastic  and  buttons  (an 
elegant  reminiscence  of  the  days  of  crinoline)  and 
displayed  the  famous  Church  feet  which  neither  age, 
corpulence,  nor  even  (oh,  horror!)  elastic-side  boots 
could  altogether  rob  of  shapeliness;  a  Swiss  garden- 
hat  was  tied  with  great  precision  under  the  second 
chin ;  grey  silk  mittens  encased  the  plump,  bejewelled 
hands. 

"  How  Mother  has  got  herself  up !  "  thought  the 
sailor,  unfihally,  as  his  first  glance  fell  upon  her. 
But  the  second  swiftly  corrected  the  hasty  impres- 
sion. The  Marian  Church,  who  in  her  girlhood 
had  ruled  over  hundreds  of  slaves  in  her  beauti- 
ful southern  home,  had  found  ample  scope  for  her 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      16^ 

imperious  nature  in  the  social  position  given  by  her 
second  marriage,  a  position  which  cut  her  off,  as 
one  among  the  elect,  from  the  common  herd  of 
mortals.  The  rest  of  the  world  outside  the  Almanach 
de  Gotha  was  to  the  Marquise  de  Lormes  («/<?  Church) 
what  the  coloured  people  had  been  on  her  father's 
estate — just  human  beings  whom  Providence  had 
manifestly  destined  to  be  useful  to  her  and  her  peers. 
Nothing  is  more  imposing  to  others  than  such  an 
intimate  conviction  of  superiority ;  and  George  Dodd's 
second  reflection,  under  his  mother's  cold  rebuking 
eye,  was  decidedly  one  of  more  respect. 

*'  By  Jingo,  she  's  a  regular  Queen  of  Sheba,"  was 
the  reversed  judgment. 

"  I  rather  think  it  was  Mademoiselle  Gioja,"  he 
said,  answering  her  acid  question  good-naturedly. 
"  Yes,  I  rather  think  it  was." 

Even  if  he  would  ever  have  been  inclined  to 
recognise  the  right  of  a  mother's  interference  in  so 
private  a  concern  as  a  man's  love,  she  had  herself  so 
deliberately  forfeited  all  such  right  of  her  own  choice 
that  he  was  the  more  disposed  to  meet  her  present 
attitude  with  humourous  indifference. 

"  Indeed !  "  She  lowered  her  white  silk  parasol 
with  the  fringes  —  the  same  parasol  that  had  first 
been  upheld  to  shut  out  from  the  young  Marquise  de 
Lormes'  "  legitimist "  eyes  the  shocking  sight  of  the 
upstart  woman  whom  Paris  called  the  Empress 
Eugenie.     "  Indeed  !  " 

"Well,  Ma'am?"  said  her  son,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye. 


266       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

His  tone,  his  look,  the  sound  of  the  words,  evoked 
an  unwelcome  memory.  Among  his  other  short- 
comings George  had  been  tactless  enough  to  inherit 
a  remarkable  likeness  to  his  father.  Actual  hostility 
began  to  gleam  behind  the  mere  coldness  of  the 
Marquise's  eye. 

"  In  this  country,"  she  said,  "  it  is  not  customary 
for  gentlemen  to  engage  young  ladies  in  conversation 
by  themselves  in  secluded  spots." 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  Mr.  Dodd,  with  a  maliciously 
exaggerated  airiness,  "  I  had  something  very  par- 
ticular to  say  to  that  young  lady,  and  I  don't  hap- 
pen, you  see  (thank  my  stars !),  to  belong  to  this 
country." 

Madame  de  Lormes'  hand  shook,  but  she  con- 
tinued as  if  she  had  not  heard  her  son's  remark: 

"  In  this  country,  in  our  society,  if  a  young  girl  so 
far  forgets  proprieties  as  to  have  clandestine  meetings 
with  gentlemen,  it  is  supposed  to  be  the  part  of  the 
gentlemen  to  refrain  from  taking  advantage  of  such 
immodest  behaviour,  were  it  only  out  of  respect  to 
those  whose  hospitality  he  is  enjoying." 

The  cool  bronze  of  the  sailor's  cheek  deepened  to 
copper;  he  had  a  slow  temper,  but  it  was  ill  to  sub- 
due when  once  kindled,  and  it  was  now  beginning 
to  smoulder.  He  drove  his  hands  into  his  pockets 
and  faced  his  formidable  mother  squarely. 

"  Look  here.  Mother,"  he  said,  still  good-humour- 
edly,  but  with  a  note  of  warning,  "  I  don't  think  I  've 
made  much  out  of  those  last  remarks  of  yours.  Yet 
all  the  same,  it  strikes  me  that  they  are  n't  altogether 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      267 

dictated  by  a  spirit  of  kindness  either  towards  my- 
self or  towards" — he  hesitated,  his  voice  softened 
—  "  towards  Miss  Joy.  In  case  you  feel  inclined  to 
steer  any  further  on  the  same  course,  I  think  it 's 
just  as  well  to  let  you  know  that  the  young  lady  in 
question  is  going  to  be  your  own  daughter-in-law." 

"  Going  to  be  my  daughter-in-law !  "  Madame  de 
Lormes'  horror  was  voiceless,  but  her  lips  formed 
the  words  in  dumb  show.  She  tottered  and  had  to 
support  herself  on  the  handle  of  the  fringed  parasol. 
Then  the  power  of  expression  returned  to  her  in 
force.  "  Going  to  be  my  daughter-in-law !  "  she 
said  in  bass  tones  that  would  have  made  the  fortune 
of  a  tragedian. 

George  Dodd  was  extremely  amused,  more  so  per- 
haps than  the  occasion  seemed  to  warrant.  He  was 
as  good  a  fellow  as  ever  breathed,  but  he  had  old 
scores  against  his  mother's  vicarious  pride  of  birth. 

"  Yes :  if  your  son  can  make  her  so,"  he  affirmed, 
and  showed  all  his  strong  teeth. 

The  unmistakable  mischievousness  in  his  expres- 
sion struck  the  Marquise  with  a  new  horror  almost 
too  hideous  to  be  formulated. 

"Is  it  possible,  Sir,  that  you  can  refer  to  my  son, 
the  Marquis  de  Lormes?"  ejaculated  she ;  and  only 
(as  she  afterwards  averred  to  a  kindred  soul  in  the 
Rue  St.  Dominique)  the  benevolence  of  Heaven  itself 
kept  her  from  swooning  on  the  spot.  Whether  or 
not  the  benevolence  of  Heaven  was  actively  engaged 
upon  sustaining  the  lady  at  that  moment,  it  is  certain 
that  what   commoner  mortals  would  call  plainly  a 


268       THE    SECRET  ORCHARD 

good  hot  temper  had  something  to  do  with  the 
stiffening  of  her  frame. 

"  No,  Ma'am,"  said  the  sailor,  "  I  refer  to  your 
son,  Lieutenant  George  P.  Dodd."  Then  he  added : 
"  And,  Ma'am,  I  will  add  that  if  I  could  think  that 
little  individual  capable  even  of  the  thought  of  mak- 
ing such  a  choice  for  himself,  he  would  rise  con- 
siderably higher  in  my  estimation  than  he  stands 
now.  To  be  frank  with  you,  Ma'am,  he  does  n't 
stand  at  any  giddy  altitude  there  just  now." 

These  words,  while  they  removed  the  great  lady's 
first  appalling  anxiety,  added  considerably  to  her 
anger. 

"  I  might  have  known,"  she  began,  icy  on  the 
surface  of  her  boiling  heat,  "  that  from  a  Marquis  de 
Lormes  I  need  have  had  no  fear  of  such  degradation." 

"  Degradation  !  Take  care,  if  you  please,"  said  the 
man,  warningly  mild. 

"  But,  however  you  may  forget,"  she  went  on  with 
a  deadly  flow  of  words,  "your  duties  as  a  son  — 
and  indeed  it  is  but  what  I  have  been  so  well  accus- 
tomed to  almost  from  your  very  birth " 

"  I  take  it,"  interrupted  he,  speaking  in  a  sort  of 
soliloquy,  "  that  when  that  commandment  to  which  I 
presume  you  refer  was  framed,  the  Almighty  meant 
it  for  those  boys  and  girls  that  have  a  father  and 
mother  at  home  to  honour.  It  is  n't  so  very  easy 
always  to  behave  scripturally  to  a  parent  across  three 
thousand  miles  of  ocean." 

Madame  de  Lormes  paused,  breathed  deeply,  and 
glared.     Then,  it  being  evident  that  her  direct  attack 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      269 

was  likely  to  be  more  than  parried,  she  went  off 
suddenly  at  a  fierce  tangent: 

"  That  girl !  "  she  said,  "  You  presume  to  ask  my 
permission  to  introduce  a  person  of  such  a  descrip- 
tion into  my  family?  " 

"  I  do  not,"  said  Mr.  Dodd.  "  I  merely  communi- 
cate my  intention." 

"  I  forbid  it,"  cried  the  lady.  **  Do  you  know.  Sir, 
whence  she  has  sprung?  " 

"  I  do  not,  Ma'am,  and  I  don't  much  care." 

"  Rash,  unhappy  man,  do  you  not  see  what  she  is?" 

"Well,"  said  the  son,  "that's  just  it:  I  do  see 
what  she  is."  The  slow  fire  in  his  eye  kindled  now 
into  flame. 

"  Ah,  you  think  you  can  defy  me,"  cried  she, 
almost  losing  self-control.  "  But,  thank  God,"  she 
laughed  hysterically,  "  the  customs  of  this  country 
are  not  those  of  the  unbridled  land  where  you  were 
brought  up !  There  are  laws,  Sir,  here,  specially 
framed  to  protect  families,  homes,  mothers,  against 
such  disgrace  as  you  would  bring  upon  them ;  laws 
to  prevent  the  introduction  into  distinguished  house- 
holds of  such  intriguing  upstarts  as  that  young 
person.  I  shall  speak  to  Helen.  This  affair  shall  go 
no  further.  I  shall  speak  to  the  Duke;  he  shall 
refuse  his  consent." 

She  turned  and  began  to  move  her  vast  proportions 
with  incredible  celerity  towards  the  house.  The  man 
turned  also  and  walked  beside  her  with  long,  easy 
strides. 

"  I  'm  going  to  speak  to  the  Duke  myself,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

THE  relatives  of  the  Marquise  de  Lormes  were 
accustomed  to  behold  that  lady  moved  to 
majestic  wrath  at  least  two  or  three  times  in  the 
course  of  the  day.  There  were  so  many  in  the  im- 
perfect world  outside  her  own  especial  radius  who 
offended  her  peculiar  sensitiveness,  so  few  even  in 
that  select  circle  who  understood  the  true  inwardness 
of  their  position  as  she  did,  that  it  was  no  wonder  (as 
she  frequently  told  her  friends)  that  **  the  blade 
was  wearing  out  the  scabbard." 

Therefore,  when  she  entered  into  the  library, 
breathless  from  haste,  with  portentous  storm-clouds 
lowering  upon  her  massive  brow,  the  three  who  were 
seated  in  such  apparent  comfort  round  the  tea-table 
beheld  these  symptoms  without  much  surprise. 

Helen,  busy  in  the  preparation  of  fresh  tea,  drew 
a  slight  sigh  which  breathed  more  of  resignation  than 
anxiety.  If  Joy,  crouching  by  her  side,  pensive  and 
quiet  upon  a  little  stool,  had  not  as  swiftly  veiled  the 
upward  glance  she  cast  upon  the  new-comer,  cool 
contempt  would  have  been  the  emotion  read  in  the 
unchildlike  eyes  of  the  child  face,  Totol,  with  a 
large  piece  of  cake  sticking  in  one  lean  cheek,  stopped 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      271 

his  busy  jaws  for  a  second  to  gaze  with  protruding 
orbs  and  to  draw  his  hps  into  an  expressive  voiceless 
whistle;  he  then  rounded  his  little  shoulders  philo- 
sophically and  went  on  with  his  mastication. 

"  Tiens,  Mamaii  in  a  rage  again  !  " 

George  Dodd  followed  his  mother  into  the  room 
with  an  exaggerated  sea-lurch,  a  slight  smile  on  his 
lips,  and  that  aggressive  air  of  ease  and  inditference 
which  in  some  natures  covers  a  white  heat  of 
emotion. 

As  Madame  de  Lormes  was  for  the  first  moment 
or  two  quite  incapable  of  speech,  he  took  the  lead, 
and,  slipping  into  a  chair  behind  Helen,  murmured 
into  her  ear,  keeping  his  eyes  on  Joy's  pale  averted 
cheek  the  while : 

"  Helen,  you  'd  best  prepare  for  a  squall.  My 
mother  is  in  a  tantrum  this  time  and  no  mistake." 

"  My  niece,"  gasped  Madame  de  Lormes,  "  where 
is  your  husband?"  She  drew  a  heaving  breath, 
untied  the  ribands  of  her  hat  and  flung  them  over 
her  shoulders.  Her  massive  body  was  trembling. 
"  I  have  to  speak  to  the  Duke,"  she  continued,  rais- 
ing her  voice. 

"  So  have  I,"  said  Mr.  Dodd,  quietly.  He  saw 
the  long,  dark  lashes  flutter  on  the  little  rim  of  white 
cheek. 

This  time  Totol  was  fain  to  swallow  his  cake  with 
a  rapid  gulp  and  to  bestow  undivided  attention  to  a 
situation  of  incomparable  interest.  He  rolled  his 
eyes  from  his  mother  to  his  brother,  and  his  quick 
wits  leaped  to  an  approximation  of  the  truth. 


272      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

In  Helen's  mind  too  a  prescience  of  the  forthcoming 
disclosure  began  to  dawn.  She  also  looked  from  her 
aunt  to  her  cousin  wistfully,  and  then  her  tender 
eyes  rested  on  the  fair  head  at  her  knee.  The  true 
woman's  pity  for  the  maiden  upon  whose  young 
shoulders  the  weight  of  life  is  about  to  be  laid,  the 
true  woman's  joy  in  the  thought  of  love,  a  mother's 
regret,  a  mother's  anxiety,  withal  a  personal  relief  at 
the  solution  of  an  embarrassing  situation  —  all  these 
feelings  were  struggling  in  her  heart. 

Madame  de  Lormes'  voice  broke  sternly  upon  the 
momentary  silence, 

"  Helen,"  it  said,  "  I  am  sorry  to  interrupt  your 
meal,  but  I  must  request  you  to  have  the  Duke 
informed  that  I  desire  to  speak  with  him  here, 
instantly,  in  the  presence  of  the  Marquis  de  Lormes, 
my  son,  head  of  our  family," 

Totol  here  performed  the  excellent  feat  of  present- 
ing a  profile  of  deadly  seriousness  to  his  mother  on 
the  one  side,  while  he  administered  a  humourous  wink 
and  grimace  to  Helen  on  the  other. 

"  My  son,  the  Marquis  de  Lormes,"  reiterated  the 
irate  lady,  "and  in  your  presence,  Helen"  —  there 
was  withering  reproach  in  her  look  and  tone  —  "and 
likewise  in  the  presence  of  Mr,  Dodd,  my  elder  son." 

My  elder  son !  Never  had  the  poor  lady  felt  the 
bitterness  of  this  substantial  fact  so  keenly  as  at  this 
moment.     She  paused  here. 

"Certainly,  Aunt,"  said  Helen,  nervously.  "Joy, 
my  child,  do  you  know  where  the  Duke  is?  " 

Joy    rose,    straight    and    small    and    slim;     stood 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      273 

before  her  patroness  with  hanging  arms  and  down- 
cast eyes,  the  picture  (thought  her  lover)  of  all 
pretty,  modest  girlishness. 

"  Yes,  Godmother,"  said  she. 

Madame  de  Lormes  extended  a  shaking,  mittened 
hand  with  pointed  index. 

"  The  presence  of  Mademoiselle,"  said  she,  "  we  can 
dispense  with." 

"  Not  at  all,"  asserted  Mr.  Dodd ;  "  her  presence 
cannot  at  all  be  dispensed  with.  I  particularly  desire 
that  she  should  hear  every  word  I  have  to  say. — The 
decks  are  cleared  for  action,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  and, 
by  George,  we  '11  fight  this  business  out  to-day !  " 

The  Duchess  hesitated,  glanced  once  again  from 
her  aunt's  flushed  and  furious  countenance  to  the 
sailor's  composed  features ;  she  met  his  steady,  sea- 
blue  eyes,  and  he  smiled  at  her  ever  so  slightly.  His 
square  hand  rested  on  the  back  of  her  chair.  The 
feeling  of  his  presence  was  that  of  a  tower  of  strength. 
This  was  the  first  man  she  had  ever  known  in  whom 
the  stress  of  emotion  seemed  to  increase  self-control 
and  self-confidence. 

"Joy,"  she  said  then,  very  gently,  *' try  if  you  can 
find  the  Duke  and  tell  him  that  I  should  hke  to  see 
him  here." 

George  rose.  "And  then.  Miss  Joy,  come  back 
yourself,  if  you  please,"  added  he. 

"  Yes,  my  child,"  said  Helen. 

The  girl  moved  to  the  door  which  Mr.  Dodd,  pre- 
ceding her,  held  open  for  her.  Madame  de  Lormes 
snorted  and  flung  herself  back  in  her  arm-chair. 

18 


274      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"  I  am  afraid,"  thought  Totol,  "  that  we  are  turning 
to  the  sentimental.  Ate,  ate  I  It  is  that  that  will 
bore  me!  Luckily,"  he  reflected  further,  "we  may- 
trust  the  Mamma  to  put  some  life  into  us." 

Indeed,  Madame  de  Lormes  was  even  then  collect- 
ing her  thunders  to  that  intent. 

"  I  may  as  well  inform  you  first  as  last,  Helen,"  said 
she,  "  that  I  utterly  and  absolutely  refuse  my  sanction 
to  my  son  George's  insane  purpose.  Both  the  Mar- 
quis and  myself —  " 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  might  be  useful  for  me  to  state 
first.  Ma'am,  what  this  purpose  of  mine  is,"  cut  in 
George,  in  his  cool  slow  tone.  "  My  purpose,  Cousin 
Helen,  is  to  marry  your  adopted  daughter,  Joy.  And 
I  'm  not  very  clear  in  my  mind  that  I  want  anybody's 
permission  to  do  so,  except  hers.  But  it  seems  to 
be  part  of  the  ceremony  in  this  house  'to  ask  the 
Duke,'  and  I  don't  mind  falling  in  so  far  with  your 
French  ways.  Therefore  I  a7n  going  to  ask  the 
Duke.  There  is  no  harm  in  adding,  however,  that  I 
don't  care  much  what  the  Duke  says  on  this  subject, 
if  only  she  says  the  right  thing.  And  she  's  as  good 
as  said  it  already,  I  may  tell  you." 

"Oh!"  cried  Madame  de  Lormes,  and  "Oh!" 
again.  Then  with  impotent  dignity  she  declared : 
"  Understand,  Helen,  I  have  absolutely  refused  my 
consent.  Anatole,  Marquis  de  Lormes,  speak  you 
also,  my  son." 

Totol  cracked  his  fingers  and  drew  up  his  knees. 
His  wizened  face  became  contracted  into  wrinkles 
expressive  of  wisdom  and  benevolence. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       i-js 

"  Look  here,  Mamma,"  he  remarked,  "  I  don't 
mind  saying  anything  in  the  world  you  fancy.  But 
what  is  the  use?  Did  I  not  nearly  kill  myself  this 
morning  in  the  rose-garden  trying  to  make  him 
see  reason?  He's  romantic,  you  see,  romantic,  and 
that 's  the  devil !  George,  my  little  brother,  you  are 
shockingly  romantic,  you  know." 

"  Helen,"  interrupted  the  Marquise,  who  would  have 
been  a  fool  indeed  not  to  perceive  that  upon  the 
sturdy  sailor  all  her  energies  were  wasted,  and  who, 
moreover,  was  alarmed  by  her  niece's  silence,  "  Helen, 
I  have  been  more  than  a  mother  to  you  :  will  you,  too, 
turn  upon  me  in  my  old  age?" 

Struck  by  the  words,  Helen  looked  up,  and  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  God  knows,"  she  cried  piteously,  "  I  owe  you 
much,  Aunt.  But  what  is  it  you  want  me  to  do? 
Is  it  not  the  happiness  of  two  young  lives  that  is  at 
stake?  Let  us  be  patient.  I  must  hear  more  before 
I  speak." 

Hear  more,  when  the  Marquise  de  Lormes  had 
already  given  her  opinion !  Astonishment  almost 
suffocated  the  lady. 

"It  is  Mamma  who  will  require  her  little  calming 
drops  to-night,  oh,  yes ! "  reflected  the  younger  son, 
as  he  helped  himself  to  another  sandwich,  shaking 
his  head  meanwhile  with  a  reproving  expression  of 
countenance. 

From  the  post  which  he  had  resumed  behind 
Helen's  chair  George  spoke  again. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  looking  with  a  sort  of  com- 


276       THE   SECRET    ORCHARD 

passion  at  the  Marquise's  inflamed  countenance,  "to 
see  my  mother  so  upset;  but  I  do  claim  that  a  man 
must  have  the  right  to  choose  for  himself  what  he 
wants  for  his  own  happiness.  Helen,"  he  went  on 
in  a  lower  voice,  "  you  '11  not  try  to  come  between  me 
and  my  happiness,  will  you?" 

He  stretched  his  hand  to  her  as  he  spoke  and 
Helen  put  hers  into  it. 

"No,  George,"  she  answered,  and  was  once  more 
glad  to  drown  her  doubts  in  the  depths  of  his  steady 
eyes.  "  If  I  can  help  you  to  your  happiness,  I  will." 
Then  smiling,  under  her  breath  she  added  as  the 
door  opened :   "And  here  it  comes !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

IT  is  easily  conceivable  that  the  doomed  man 
who  feels  the  end  draw  near,  by  hideous  degrees, 
with  every  tick  of  the  clock,  should  hail  at 
last  with  relief  the  announcement  that  the  inevitable 
hour  has  struck.  No  more  sickening  alternations  of 
hopes  and  fears  now,  no  more  ghastly  visions  in  the 
night,  no  more  impotent  furies  or  cold  despairs :  it 
is  the  end  ! 

When  the  little  tap  came  to  the  study  door  (Joy 
always  knew  where  to  find  the  Duke),  when  Favereau 
went  to  open  it  and  disclosed  the  white  figure,  Cluny 
felt  borne  in  upon  him  the  strong,  inexplicable  con- 
viction that  his  hour  had  come;  and  at  the  same 
moment  his  doubt,  his  agony,  his  apprehension  were 
superseded  by  an  extraordinary  quietude. 

"  It  is  the  end,"  he  said  to  himself  with  stern  com- 
posure.    "  It  is  the  end." 

He  smiled  as  the  girl  delivered  her  message : 
"The  Duke's  presence  was  desired  in  the  library," 
It  was  in  the  fitness  of  things  that  her  voice  should 
be  the  one  to  summon  him  to  his  fate. 

"  Precede  us.  Mademoiselle,  and  say  that  we  are 
coming,"  he  replied. 


278       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

It  was  the  first  time  since  her  entry  into  his  house 
that  he  had  looked  at  her  frankly  and  spoken  to  her 
naturally. 

She  had,  as  usual,  her  own  reasons  for  curtaining 
her  tell-tale  eyes,  afire  just  now  with  irrepressible 
expectation.  But,  vaguely  struck  by  something 
unusual,  she  could  not  refrain  from  casting  a  swift, 
biting  glance  at  him  before  turning  away. 

"What  is  it?"  she  said  to  herself.  "He  is 
different.  Is  it  that  bad  old  man?  It  never  means 
good  to  me  when  they  are  closeted  together.  But 
wait,  my  Duke,  wait !  I  will  make  you  show  your 
heart." 

Fortune  had  indeed  favoured  her.  The  plan  she 
had  first  conceived  on  the  mere  chance  of  provoking 
some  expression  of  feeling  from  the  Duke  which 
would  give  a  little  ease  to  her  hungry  heart  had 
succeeded  beyond  her  utmost  expectation :  Dodd's 
unexpected  high-handedness  would  now  afford  her 
an  opportunity  of  seeing  with  her  own  eyes  how 
matters  really  stood  with  her  lover. 

She  smiled  upon  the  thought.  Her  quick  wits 
had  already  rehearsed  the  whole  scene,  had  settled 
every  detail  with  a  childish  simplicity  of  confidence 
mingling  with  the  fierceness  of  her  woman's  passion. 

He  should  not  betray  himself  to  the  others ;  no, 
that  was  not  in  her  arrangements.  But,  master  of 
dissimulation  as  he  was,  she  would  be  able  to  inter- 
pret his  every  word,  his  every  look.  Oh,  she  could 
see  it  all !  First,  there  would  be  M.  Dodd,  with  his 
proposal.     (She  laughed  to  herself.)     Totol  would 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       279 

be  raging  too.  (How  droll !)  The  Duke  would  then 
see  how  others  wanted  her.  Ah,  that  would  strike 
home!  Then  would  come  his  refusal  of  course  —  a 
dead,  point-blank,  cold  refusal.  "  Impossible !  the 
thing  absurd!  What  reason?  None.  Not  to  be 
discussed,  that  was  all?"  The  others  would  think 
it  was  all  his  pride.  "  A  nameless  girl  marry  into 
his  family?  Not  to  be  thought  of!"  The  old 
woman  would  rejoice.  Let  her  rejoice ;  let  them  all 
think  what  they  liked  !  She  would  just  look  at  the 
Duke,  and  the  Duke  would  look  at  her  —  a  long, 
long  look.  "  You  know,"  his  eyes  would  say;  and, 
"  I  know, '^  hers  would  answer.  That  was  little  enough, 
before  Heaven !  But  to  her,  in  her  destitution,  how 
much !  Ah,  the  sweetness  of  that  moment  when 
it  would  come!  Great  God,  how  she  loved  him  !  .  .  . 
She  turned  the  handle  of  the  library  door  and  slipped 
in,  leaving  it  open. 

As  the  two  men  reached  the  threshold,  Favereau 
stopped ;  his  face  was  troubled. 

"  Have  you  any  idea,"  he  whispered  to  the  Duke, 
"  of  what  this  is  about?" 

"  Let  us  go  in  !  "  said  the  other,  briefly.  Then  he 
added,  quite  irrelevantly :  "  You  did  your  best  for 
me,  old  man,  you  did  your  best."  His  eyes  were 
extraordinarily  bright  in  his  pale  face. 

"  I  must  stand  by  him,"  resolved  Favereau ;  and 
he  felt  "  the  rat,  anxiety,"  gnaw  at  his  heart  with 
physical  pain. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

THE  early  autumn  dusk  was  falling  after  the 
golden  day.  Shadows  were  beginning  to  fill 
the  dim  heights  and  corners  of  the  hbrary. 
With  the  evening  had  come  a  chilliness  over  the 
land  —  the  far-away  breath  of  the  death  that  was 
slowly  advancing  with  winter  from  the  north.  Logs 
had  therefore  been  piled  again  on  Cluny's  never 
extinguished  fire,  and  the  charming,  flickering  light 
of  the  wood  flames  danced  on  the  group  round  the 
tea-table.  Now  it  played  on  the  dark  gold  of  Helen's 
head,  now  on  the  pale  baby-curls  of  the  girl  seated 
by  her  knee ;  now  it  threw  the  set  strong  profile 
of  the  sailor  into  high  relief,  or  fantastically  illumined 
the  little  Marquis'  gnome-like  visage. 

The  Marquise  de  Lormes  was  lying  back  in  her 
arm-chair  under  the  shadow  of  the  screen  ;  but  as 
the  Duke  and  Favereau  entered  her  voice  dominated 
Helen's  greeting  and  Totol's  jocular  remark: 

"  Family  council.  Sentimental  comedy  a  la  Feii- 
illet,  beginning  of  Act  II." 

"Charles-Edward,"  entoned  the  "inhe  7wble"  "  I 
thank  you  for  your  promptitude  in  coming  to  my 
summons.     You    find    us    in    a    most    painful    and 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       281 

anxious  situation.  I  look  to  you,  master  of  this 
house,  to  uphold  me  in  my  maternal  rights,  and  to 
assist  me  in  guarding  the  family  dignity."  Here 
the  fine  roundness  of  her  voice  underwent  a  sudden 
icy  change.  "  I  did  not  see,"  she  said,  "  that  you 
were  accompanied  by  Monsieur  Favereau.  Charles- 
Edward,  this  is  a  family  matter." 

Favereau  laughed.  It  was  impossible  to  be  more 
determined  than  he  was  to  keep  his  ground,  but  his 
manner  was  seemingly  that  of  the  utmost  alacrity. 

"  A  thousand  pardons  !  "  he  said.  "  I  blush  for  my 
indiscretion.  But  pray  forgive  me,  Madame.  They 
have  so  spoiled  me  here  by  treating  me  as  one  of  the 
family,  that  I  am  sometimes  forgetful  enough  really 
to  consider  myself  as  such.     I  will  at  once  retire." 

There  was,  and  at  once,  of  course,  the  protest  he 
expected.  Helen  stretched  out  her  hand  to  arrest 
his  perfunctory  show  of  exit. 

"  Indeed,  we  always  want  your  wise  head  and  your 
kind  heart,"  she  exclaimed,  "  and  never  more  than 
now." 

"Favereau  stays."  The  two  words  fell  from  the 
Duke's  lips  with  a  very  unusual  accent  of  authority. 

Dodd  smiled  humourously.  If  any  one  had  told 
him  a  month  ago  that  he  would  propose  for  the  girl 
he  wanted,  "  French  fashion,"  before  a  whole  room 
full  of  people,  he  would  have  called  him  most  likely 
an  "  iridescent  ass,"  or  some  equally  picturesque 
name.  But  now  —  go  to  !  He  was  ready  to  see  the 
matter  through  in  thorough  style:  therefore  the  more 
the  merrier. 


282       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

His  mother's  chair  creaked  under  an  impatient 
movement;  flap-flap  went  her  fan  with  an  energy 
calculated,  as  Dodd  said  to  himself,  to  make  them 
all  feel  hot.     Then  she  spoke  again. 

"  It  seems  that  the  whole  proceedings  are  to  be 
carried  out  in  a  very  curious  fashion.  I  protest. 
Helen,  before  your  husband,  I  call  upon  you  again 
to  dismiss  Mademoiselle  from  a  council  at  which  her 
presence  is  most  indecorous." 

"Mademoiselle  remains,"  said  the  American,  If 
there  had  been  authority  in  the  Duke's  voice,  there 
was  mastery  in  that  of  the  sailor. 

Cluny,  standing  by  the  table  — "  the  criminal 
should  stand  in  the  dock,"  he  had  said  to  himself,  in 
his  new  mood  of  ghastly  irony — glanced  quickly  at 
the  last  speaker.  Dodd  was  still  smiling.  And 
Cluny,  man  of  nerves  as  sensitive  as  a  woman's,  man 
of  impulses,  delicacies,  susceptibilities,  high-strung 
passions  and  poetic  ideals,  knew  that  in  that  solid, 
healthy,  unemotional  frame,  behind  that  good-hu- 
moured mask  sat  a  spirit  of  iron  resolve ;  and  knew 
too  that  the  collision  of  their  fates  would  be  his  own 
doom. 

Then  Madame  de  Lormes,  after  the  pause  neces- 
sary for  the  controlling  of  her  indignation  at  this 
monstrous  filial  disrespect,  spoke  again. 

"  It  only  remains  for  me  to  expose  the  state  of 
affairs  to  the  Duke  of  Cluny."  But  her  rolling 
period  was  broken  into  by  the  American. 

"  I  take  it,"  said  he,  "  that,  as  I  am  the  principal 
person  interested,   I  had  better  take  the  lead  in  this 


THE    SECRET   ORCHARD       283 

affair."  (The  Marquise  subsided  with  a  groan.) 
"  It  is  n't  anything  so  out  of  the  way,  either,"  pursued 
the  sailor,  cheerfully. 

He  was  quite  sure  of  his  girl  by  this  time.  The 
little  creature  (he  told  himself),  for  all  her  funny 
foreign  ways,  would  never  have  led  him  on  like  this 
if  she  were  not  in  earnest.  Now  and  again,  in  the 
firelight  flashes,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  cheek, 
unwontedly  crimsoned:  and  his  heart  leaped.  He 
felt  a  conqueror's  joy  in  her  blushes.  And  he  would 
not  spare  them ;  it  was  part  of  the  sweet  punishment 
she  deserved  for  playing  with  his  strong  man's  love; 
and  the  rest  of  the  score  should  be  settled  in  a  very 
little  while,  when  his  kisses  should  again  bring  the 
young  blood  to  her  cheeks  more  hotly  and  more 
beautifully  still. 

"  It  is  n't  anything  so  much  out  of  the  way,"  re- 
peated he.  "  In  my  country  it 's  the  sort  of  little 
business  which  is  settled  just  between  two,  and  we 
consider  that  the  parents  don't  come  into  it  at  all, 
except  in  the  way  of  blessing.  But  being  in  France, 
and  having  got  some  very  French  relatives,  I  am 
willing  to  conform.  Duke,  Cousin  Helen,  I  told 
your  adopted  daughter,  Miss  Joy,  this  morning  that 
I  thought  I  could  make  her  a  good  husband.  I  said 
to  her:  Would  she  have  me?  And  she  said:  'Ask 
the  Duke.'     Well,  Sir,  I  do  ask." 

Of  course,  Favereau  had  known  as  well  as  all  the 
others  what  was  coming,  yet  from  his  shaded  corner 
behind  the  Duke,  Dodd's  words  struck  him  as  with  a 
blow.     The  second's  pause  that  followed  was  awful  to 


284       THE    SECRET   ORCHARD 

him,  and  he  thought  he  could  almost  feel  in  his  own 
frame  the  agonised  tension  of  his  friend's  nerves. 

Madame  de  Lormes'  rapid  breathing  betokened 
preparation  for  a  fulminating  indictment.  But  it  was 
Helen  who  broke  the  silence.  She  placed  her  hand 
on  the  fair  head  at  her  knee. 

"  Before  we  say  a  word,  George,"  she  cried  hastily, 
"  I  must  know  the  child's  feehng  on  the  matter.  We 
cannot  dispose  of  her  heart  without  hearing  what  it 
says." 

Her  voice  was  slightly  rebuking;  her  cousin,  she 
thought,  should  not  have  exposed  the  little  one  to 
such  an  ordeal. 

"  She  herself  authorised  me  to  speak,"  said  Dodd- 
"  Did  you  not.  Miss  Joy?  " 

Quite  unknown  to  himself,  his  tone  had  taken  a 
beautiful  inflection  of  tenderness  as  he  addressed  the 
girl.  The  crouching  figure  here  rose  to  its  knees, 
and  Joy,  turning,  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  Duchess' 
lap,  propped  her  chin  upon  her  hands,  and  fixed  her 
eyes  on  the  Duke.  Then  she  said  slowly,  in  her 
small,  deliberate  voice : 

"  I  told  him  to  ask  the  Duke." 

A  moment's  silence,  full  of  astonishment,  came 
upon  every  one  in  the  room,  with  the  exception  of  the 
two  who,  alas !  knew  but  too  well  now  the  solution 
to  the  enigma.  Cluny  felt  the  firelight  flicker  on 
his  face,  felt  the  gaze  of  general  expectancy  slowly 
turning  upon  him,  felt,  above  all,  the  narrow  gleam 
between  Joy's  half-closed  lids.  His  soul  was  numb 
within  him. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      285 

What  was  this  trap  she  had  so  evidently  laid  for  his 
fall?  How  could  he  so  bear  himself  as  best  to  spare 
Helen  and  his  honour?  The  only  emotion  left  to 
him  was  a  horrible  inclination  to  laugh,  *'  His 
Jionour  !  " 

Helen's  sweet  voice,  a  little  troubled,  rose  again. 
"  She  is  right,"  it  said.  "  After  all,  it  is  Cluny  who 
must  approve  or  forbid.     Cluny?  " 

The  flapping  of  Madame  de  Lormes'  indignant 
fan  ceased;  so  did  Totol's  restless  finger-cracking 
and  half-suppressed  sniggering.  Even  his  small  soul 
felt  the  undefinable  coming  of  the  hidden  storm. 
Joy's  intent  watching  face  became  transfigured  as 
with  some  mysterious  triumph.  By  her  attitude, 
concealed  now  from  the  observation  of  her  lover  as 
well  as  of  most  of  the  others,  her  face,  in  the  side 
glow  of  the  fire,  illumined  also  startlingly  by  an  inner 
glow,  was  in  fact  then  visible  to  Favereau  only. 

"What  is  she  aiming  at?"  he  asked  himself  in 
ever-increasing  doubt.  More  than  once  he  opened 
his  mouth  to  interfere,  and  then,  the  old  dread  of 
provoking  the  catastrophe  it  was  his  purpose  to  try  to 
avert  prudently  closed  it  again. 

The  Duke  stood  looking  straight  before  him. 
Favereau  glanced  at  his  face;  here  too  he  felt  he 
was  standing  upon  unknown  ground.  Of  the  in- 
corrigible Cluny,  of  Cluny  the  inconceivably  light- 
minded,  he  had  known  every  turn;  every  turn  also 
of  the  weak,  despairing  sinner  shrinking  from  fate; 
but  this  Cluny,  wrapt  in  himself,  cold  and  disdainful 
and  apart,  he  did  not  know.     He  could  not  forecast 


286       THE    SECRET    ORCHARB 


a  single  one  of  his  actions.  Here  was  no  acting  as  in 
that  first  trial  of  strength  with  Joy  just  a  week  ago; 
here  was  now  no  cloak  of  comedy  thrown  over  raw 
despair.  This  sudden  and  extraordinary  quietude 
reached,  Favereau  felt,  to  the  spirit ;  and  this  it  was 
which  made  it  seem  so  ghastly.  "  He  looks  hke 
death !  "  thought  Favereau,  and  fantastic  shapes  of 
fear  began  to  flit  in  his  overstrained  mind.  The 
strongest  motive  power  of  the  Duke's  life,  he  knew, 
was  a  certain  fastidious,  one-sided,  and  specious  sense 
of  personal  honour,  quite  distinct  from  pride  of  race 
on  the  one  hand  or  moral  principle  on  the  other. 
And  now,  by  his  own  deed  and  by  the  fearful  force  of 
retributive  coincidence,  the  man  had  been  brought 
into  a  quagmire  where,  turn  as  he  might,  every  step 
must  plunge  him  into  deeper  infamy. 

It  seemed  to  Favereau  as  if  he  himself  had  struck 
the  death-blow  of  his  friend  a  few  minutes  ago  by 
those  words  of  desperate  advice :  "  Let  honour  go  !  " 
as  if  with  the  death  of  Cluny's  honour  the  soul  of 
the  man  had  died  too,  and  this  were  now  a  mere 
ambulating  corpse,  moved  by  some  unnatural  power 
that  was  not  of  the  spirit. 

The  suspense  might  have  lasted  about  a  minute. 
The  contented  smile  had  gradually  disappeared  from 
George  Dodd's  lips;  his  face  had  become  set  into 
massive  gravity.  When  Madame  de  Lormcs  began 
to  agitate  her  fan  once  more,  this  time  with  trium- 
phant beat,  he  remarked  very  quietly: 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      287 

"  Whatever  your  objections  are,  Duke,  had  n't  you 
better  mention  them?" 

Helen  put  out  a  deprecating  hand, 

"  Wait,  George,"  she  said.  Then  she  turned  to- 
wards her  husband.  "  Cluny,"  she  pleaded,  "  we 
must  seem  romantic,  foolish  people,  and  you  must  be 
quite  surprised  at  this  scene.     But  the  fact  is  "  —  she 

hesitated  —  "  the  fact  is.  Aunt  Harriet  thinks " 

Again  she  broke  off.  "  Dear  Aunt  Harriet,  don't  be 
angry  with  me;  surely  it  is  good  to  put  aside  con- 
ventions now  and  again " 

Here  Madame  de  Lormes  gave  an  angry,  con- 
temptuous laugh,  at  the  end  of  which  she  drew  in 
her  breath  with  a  hissing  sound.  This  with  her  was 
the  heralding  of  that  indignation  that  is  beyond  words. 
Helen  knew  the  symptom  well.  Troubled,  yet  never- 
theless courageous,  she  pursued : 

"  Dear,  here  are  two,  I  think,  that  love  each  other. 
Am  I  right,  Joy?" 

She  paused  for  a  second.  The  elbows  propped 
upon  her  lap  trembled,  but  no  word  came  from  the 
girl's  lips.  Unwaveringly,  as  the  cat  watches  the  bird, 
Joy*  was  watching  her  victim. 

"  Dear,"  then  cried  the  Duchess,  the  unknown 
trouble  that  seemed  to  be  closing  around  her  giving 
a  piteousness,  almost  a  sharpness,  to  her  accents 
that  cut  Favereau  to  the  heart,  "  dear,  shall  we  not 
make  it   easy  for  them  to  be  as  happy  as  we  are? 

Cluny,  in  the  name  of  our  love "  Her  voice  broke 

off;  never  before  had  she  called  upon  him  unan- 
swered.    The  strangeness,  the  terror  of  his  silence, 


288       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

brought  a  sob  to  her  throat,  a  mist  to  her  eyes. 
Once  more  a  heavy  stilhiess  fell  upon  them  all. 

Suddenly  the  girl  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  her  shrill 
cry  resounded  and  echoed  through  the  vast  dim  room. 
It  was  a  cry  of  delight,  of  victory: 

"  The  Duke  refuses  his  consent.     He  refuses  !  " 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

"  T  TPON  my  word ! "  said   Madame  de  Lormes. 

\^  But  nobody  heeded  her,  for  the  Duke  of 
Cluny  was  speaking  at  last. 

Upon  the  hearth  a  couple  of  logs  had  fallen  apart 
with  a  crash,  and  tongues  of  yellow  flame  were  leap- 
ing up  the  chimney.  Even  in  this  rosy  firelight- 
glow  the  face  of  the  master  of  the  house  showed  livid. 
Yet  — •  terrible  contrast !  —  it  was  smiling. 

"You  mistake,  Mademoiselle.  Why  should  I 
refuse  my  consent  to  your  marriage?  On  the  con- 
trary, should  I  not  be  gratified  at  seeing  your  future 
so  unexpectedly,  so  well,  provided  for.?  " 

His  accent  was  very  quiet,  the  words  perfectly 
well  chosen  and  natural,  yet  every  one,  except 
Madame  de  Lormes,  whose  narrow  brain  was  filled 
by  her  own  absorbing  grievances,  felt  that  the  some- 
thing abnormal,  the  something  terrible  in  the  situa- 
tion had  become  intensified. 

Helen,  fighting  against  her  intangible  fear,  with 
all  her  sublime  confidence  in  those  she  loved  and  all 
her  passionate  human  instinct  for  happiness,  became 
dimly  conscious  in  her  trouble  that  Joy,  with  the 
movement  of  some  little  wild  animal,  was  crouching 
up  against  her  once  again.     Then  as  one  in  a  painful 

19 


290      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

dream  she  heard  thin  strangled  tones,  in  which  she 
could  hardly  recognise  Joy's  clear  girlish  voice: 
"  Say  it  again  !     Say  you  wish  for  this  marriage." 
It  was  her  husband  who  was  thus  called  upon ! 

"Joy!" 

Helen  cried  out,  as  if  she  had  been  struck. 

Cluny  was  still  smiling.  "Say  it  again?"  he 
repeated.  "Why,  a  hundred  times  if  you  will.  It 
is  naturally  my  wish  to  see  you  happily  settled." 

Favereau  had  already  half  risen,  with  hand  out- 
stretched, but  could  not  stop  the  words.  Some  intui- 
tion of  the  strange  workings  of  the  girl's  mind  had 
flashed  into  his  own.  The  miserable  creature  still 
loved  her  betrayer  to  this  desperation;  and  Cluny 
.  .  .  What  devil  possessed  the  man  to  answer  her 
thus  ! 

Now  it  had  come  ! 

There  was  a  breathless  pause:  time  just  sufficient 
for  the  words  to  sink  with  their  full  meaning  into 
Joy's  heart.  Then  she  was  up  like  a  fury,  her  hands 
in  her  hair —  another  Joy  that  none  (not  even  Cluny) 
knew;  the  savage,  passionate,  girl-woman  of  the 
single  idea,  of  the  hopeless  longing. 

"  Happily  settled  !  Say  married  off,  got  rid 
of !  .  .  .  And  what  if  I  can  now  give  no  man  the 
love  he  has  the  right  to  look  for  in  his  wife.-*  " 

"Child!" 

But  the  shrill  voice  rose  above  Helen's  ex- 
clamation. 

"  What  if  I  had  given  my  love,  given  it,  once  for 
all,  and  all  else  had  been  .   .   .   taken  from  me  I  " 


THE    SECRET   ORCHARD      291 

This  cry  of  the  naked  soul,  with  its  awful  self- 
revelation,  cast  dismay  in  the  room.  Helen's  arms 
were  flung  round  the  girl,  her  hand  laid  on  the  terri- 
ble lips. 

"  Hush,  hush,  my  poor  child  !  You  cannot  know 
what  you  are  saying." 

Around  her  own  heart  she  felt  the  dark  waters 
closing:  that  unknown  sorrow  she  had  always 
dreaded,  she  knew,  as  yet  without  reason,  was  upon 
her  at  last !  True  to  the  practice  of  her  life,  her 
single  thought  was  for  the  one  that  seemed  to  need 
her  help.  But  Joy  struck  at  her,  flung  her  touch 
away. 

•  "Oh,  leave  me  alone;  your  caresses  have  stifled 
me  long  enough  !  " 

It  was  to  Helen  as  if  the  first  wave  of  the  dark  sea 
had  broken  over  her;  the  taste  of  its  unspeakable 
bitterness  was  upon  her  mouth. 

Favereau  came  forward.  One  comprehensive 
glance  took  in  Helen's  stricken  look,  Joy's  distorted 
face,  Cluny's  countenance  of  death,  and  the  sailor's 
profile,  set  as  into  lines  of  granite.  And  hopelessly 
he  resolved  to  make  his  last  effort.  It  was  a  gallant 
one :  he  even  laughed. 

"May  I  suggest,"  he  said,  "that  the  young  lady 
has  been  subjected  to  a  very  trying  ordeal.  She 
seems  of  a  nervous  temperament.  She  certainly 
does  not  know  what  she  is  saying.  Helen,  a  glass 
of  sal-volatile  for  Mademoiselle,  and  let  Blanchette 
take  her  to  her  room." 

Like  a  wildcat  Joy  turned  on  him.  "You  shall 
not  stay  my  mouth  again,  you  —  you  old  liar!  " 


292      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Helen  stood  still,  after  one  glance  at  her  husband. 

**  Quite  hysterical,"  said  Favereau,  smilingly  meet- 
ing the  girl's  onslaught. 

George  Dodd's  figure  now  suddenly  rose,  square 
and  large.  He  began  to  speak,  in  a  tone  of  ominous 
gentleness. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Sir;  I  can't  agree  with  either 
the  Duchess  or  you.  Miss  Joy  seems  to  me  to  know 
remarkably  well  what  she  does  mean,  on  the  con- 
trary. She  has  said  too  much,  or  too  little,  to  stop 
now." 

Here  Favereau  committed  what  he  afterwards 
recognised  as  the  irretrievable  mistake  of  endeavour- 
ing to  enlist  the  American  on  his  side. 

"For  God's  sake,  Mr.  Dodd  !  "  he  whispered  in 
his  ear,  catching  him  at  the  same  time  by  the  hand 
with  a  pressure  at  once  of  warning  and  of  appeal. 

Mr.  Dodd  disengaged  his  fingers  with  great  com- 
posure. 

"Look  here.  Monsieur  Favereau,"  he  said  almost 
genially,  "  I  don't  see  where  you  come  in,  Sir. 
Just  take  my  advice,  sit  down,  and  hold  your  tongue." 

Poor  Favereau  forced  out  another  laugh,  hardly  as 
successful  as  the  first. 

"Shame,  Mr.  Dodd,"  he  cried.  "What  mon- 
strous significance  are  you  attaching  to  a  school- 
girl's nonsense !  "  (Oh,  he  thought,  if  he  could  only 
get  the  women  away,  get  Helen  away  at  least,  he 
could  deal  with  the  men.)  And  turning  to  the 
Duchess  he  cried,  with  the  first  impatience  he  had 
ever  shown  her:  "For  God's  sake,  Helen,  take  that 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      293 

girl  out  of  the  room.     Mr.   Dodd  must  wait  for  his 
explanation." 

The  sailor's  deliberate  answer  was  forestalled  by 
Joy  herself. 

"Mr.  Dodd  shall  have  his  explanation  now:  As 
the  love  of  another  man,  I  refuse  to  become  his 
wife." 

Favereau  threw  up  his  hands  and  withdrew  to 
stand  beside  Cluny.  The  latter  slowly  folded  his 
arms.  The  unnatural  smile  had  left  his  face:  some- 
thing of  the  old  sweet  look  had  come  back  to  it.  He 
gave  one  glance  at  his  friend,  and  in  it  Favereau 
read  the  cry  of  his  own  heart :  "  All  is  over  I  " 

Helen  caught  the  back  of  a  chair  to  keep  herself 
from  falling.  But  Joy,  by  her  side,  stood  very  erect. 
Dodd  advanced  two  steps  and  took  the  girl's  wrist 
gently  between  his  finger  and  thumb. 

"Just  repeat  that,  Miss  Joy,"  he  said.  "Another 
man's  love? " 

If  his  voice  was  cold,  it  still  had  the  usual  gentle- 
ness of  its  inflection  when  addressing  her.  She  flung 
back  her  head  and  looked  at  him  full.  A  marked 
change  broke  for  a  second  the  placidity  of  his  fea- 
tures, for  one  instant  horror  leaped  into  his  eyes. 
Then  he  dropped  her  hand  and  drew  back  quietly. 

The  thin  barrier  which  had  kept  Joy's  passion 
from  absolutely  riding  over  her  self-control  now 
snapped.     She  broke  into  a  shriek : 

"His  love?  .  .  .  His  slave!  I'd  have  been  his 
slave  all  my  life  !  For  a  word,  for  a  look,  I'd  be  his 
slave  still ! " 


294      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

She  clasped  her  hands  to  her  heart  and  swayed  as 
she  drove  the  words  at  Cluny,  her  eyes  straining 
across  the  dusk  which  the  falling  flame  had  left  in 
the  room  towards  his  motionless,  rigid  figure.  "  One 
look,  one  sign ! "  she  repeated,  and  paused,  breath- 
less. The  flame  leaped  up  again,  Cluny's  face 
appeared  with  compressed  lips  and  downcast  eyes  for 
a  second  against  the  gloom.  Then  in  the  darkness 
Joy  gave  a  cry. 

It  was  the  cry  of  a  creature  wounded  to  death. 

Indistinctly  Favereau's  figure  was  seen  to  advance, 
but  instantly  the  American's  voice  struck  in  like  a 
knife. 

"Monsieur  Favereau,"  he  said,  "if  you  offer  to 
say  another  word  I  '11  knock  you  down." 

There  fell  another  terrible  pause  —  the  pause  be- 
tween the  lightning  and  the  crash  —  into  this  the 
sailor  dropped  two  more  words: 

"His  name.?" 

"Turn  on  the  light !  "  called  Joy,  in  a  clear,  high 
voice. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

GEORGE  DODD  sprang  to  the  switch:  light 
flooded   the  room.     Helen    had   covered   her 
eyes  with  her   hands.     Cluny's   attitude   had 
not  changed.     Joy  shot  forth  a  pointing  finger,  the 
devil  of  love  turned  to  hate  glaring  phosphorescent 
out  of  her  eyes. 

"  Look  at  him  !  "  she  said  briefly. 

Mr.  Dodd  looked.  "  Aha !  "  said  he.  That  was 
all. 

"Don't  you  see  the  girl's  mad!  "  cried  Favereau, 
in  loud,  angry  tones. 

"  Mad  !  Am  I }  "  And  she  had  been  afraid  of  this 
man  !  "  Yes,  I  was  mad,  I  am  mad  still,  if  you  call 
that  madness.  I  shall  be  mad  till  I  die.  Oh,  a 
month  ago  I  was  sane,  a  month  ago  I  was  honest,  a 

month  ago •  "     The  slender  arms  were  flung  out 

with  a  gesture  of  unconscious  pathos  towards  Helen. 
"A  month  ago  I  was  almost  what  she  believed  me. 
I  was  innocent,  I  was  innocent  —  innocent  enough  at 
least  to  believe  that  when  a  man  offered  caresses 
and  kisses  it  meant  that  he  loved ;  innocent  enough 
to  think  that  love  meant  happiness;  innocent  enough 
to  think  that  for  every  girl  there  was  a  man,  some- 


296      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

where,  ready  to  give  her  his  love;  that  she  had  only 
to  look  around  the  world  to  meet  him  !  Oh  !  "  With 
tearing,  claw-like  fingers,  she  clutched  at  the  masses 
of  her  yellow  hair  and  drew  them  back.  Her  little 
face,  thus  exposed  to  the  brilliant  light,  was  marked 
with  haggard  lines  of  fury  that  robbed  it  of  all 
youth.  "Oh,"  she  went  on,  drawing  fresh  breath 
with  a  sobbing  gasp,  "  I  met  the  man  whom  I  thought 
was  to  be  my  own?  Oh,  you  know  him,  all  of  you ! 
Do  you  think  I  had  a  chance  against  him  ?  I  gave 
my  love  —  all!  And  what  did  he  give  me.?  What 
did  he  give  me .-' "  she  repeated  and  broke  into  wild 
laughter,  catching  at  her  throat  with  frenzied  hands, 
and  the  next  moment  the  pearls  fell  in  a  milk-white 
hail  from  her  outflung  hands  and  bounded  and  rolled 
in  every  direction  on  the  polished  floor  —  "a  neck- 
lace of  pearls ! " 

Then  stillness  for  one  hideous  half-minute.  A 
gasping  sob  came  from  Madame  de  Lormes,  a  sud- 
den deep  breath  from  the  American.  The  others 
seemed  held  as  by  a  spell.  And  Helen  stood  as  be- 
fore, with  hidden  eyes. 

Joy  gathered  her  failing  physical  strength  together 
to  hurl  forth  to  the  uttermost  her  love,  her  passion, 
her  despair,  her  vengeance. 

"I  gave  him  such  love!  She"  —  pointing  a  con- 
temptuous finger  at  her  benefactress  —  "  she  can  prate 
of  her  love  for  him,  she  the  cold  saint,  who  would 
not  as  much  as  dip  the  tip  of  her  finger  into  sin  for 
his  sake.  I  —  I  'd  have  lied,  I  'd  have  betrayed  the 
whole  world,  I  'd  have  sinned  and  sinned  and  died  a 


o 

f     ^ 


liO 


M    2 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       297 

thousand  deaths  for  another  single  kiss,  for  one  of  his 
old  looks.  I  'd  have  done  anything  he  wished,  if  he 
had  chosen.  But  now,  now,  oh  this  awful  madness 
that  he  has  left  in  my  soul !  He  has  nailed  his 
love  to  my  heart.  Oh,  God  !  "  she  screamed,  as 
if  in  actual  physical  pain,  and  stopped,  breathless, 
panting. 

The  American's  voice,  with  its  unnatural  everyday 
tone,  was  now  uplifted: 

"  Well,  you  Duke  of  Cluny,  what  have  you  got  to 
say?" 

"Aye,  speak,"  cried  Joy,  again,  exhausted,  yet 
still  horribly  upheld  by  the  strength  of  her  rage. 
"  Speak,  Duke  of  Cluny,  alias  Monsieur  le  Cheva- 
lier. Defend  yourself  —  deny.  It  is  a  chance  re- 
semblance, is  it  not.-*"  Livid  laughter  writhed  upon 
her  lips.  "The  Duke  of  Cluny  never  met,  never 
could  have  met  the  nameless  Joy  before !  Or  if 
Monsieur  le  Chevalier  did,  what  of  it !  A  mo- 
ment's amusement,  a  whim,  a  pastime  for  a  dull 
hour.     The  toy  is  broken,  throw  it  away !  " 

Her  voice  suddenly  failed;  she  flung  herself  face 
forward  on  the  cushions  of  the  divan.  With  short, 
light  steps,  head  craned  forward,  strong  lower  jaw 
slightly  shot  out,  blue  eyes  extraordinarily  pale  and 
luminous,  their  pupils  contracted  to  a  pin's  point, 
George  Dodd  advanced  upon  Cluny. 

The  Duke  stood  in  the  same  attitude,  his  eyes 
upon  the  ground;  but  at  the  sailor's  approach  he 
raised  them  and  looked  steadily  at  the  threatening 
face. 


298       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"Well,  Sir?"  said  Mr.  Dodd.  "What  have  you 
got  to  say  ?  " 

Very  gently,  very  wearily,  Cluny  answered: 
"Nothing." 

"  Do  you  deny  everything,  then  ?  " 

"I  deny  nothing." 

The  American  stood  still  a  moment  in  the  same 
poised  attitude  of  instant  menace.  He  shifted 
now  tigerish  eyes  to  the  white  figure  prone  on  the 
sofa,  and  his  heart  contracted  and  the  blood  surged 
fiercely  to  his  brain.  The  pathos  of  his  pretty 
dream  shattered  into  this  mire  wrought  upon  him 
brief  madness :  he  looked  back  again  at  the  Duke  and 
saw  the  world  red. 

"  Bastard  Stuart  as  you  are  .  .  .  would  you  palm 
off  your  discarded  mistress  upon  me!  " 

As  he  spat  the  words  at  Cluny  he  raised  his  hand 
and  struck  him  on  the  cheek. 

And  Cluny  stood  motionless;  stood  facing  the  man 
he  had  so  deeply  yet  so  unwittingly  injured,  with 
patient  eyes. 

In  the  rush,  the  uproar,  the  sudden  clamour  of 
voices,  Helen  still  kept  erect  for  one  wonderful 
moment  of  endurance.  Then  the  bitter  waters 
closed  above  her  head.      She  gave  a  great  cry : 

"Oh,  I  am  falling,  falling,  falling!  " 

And  Favereau,  springing  forward,  caught  the 
stricken  figure  in  his  arms. 


BOOK  IV 

"  Hab'ed  stirreth  up  strifes,  but  love  covereth  all  sins."  — 
Proverbs. 


I 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

N  the  best  guest-chamber  of  the  only  inn  at  St. 
Michel,  at  the  sign  of  the  Toiirne-Bride,  Lieu- 
tenant George  Dodd  sat  writing  at  a  small 
deal  table. 

It  was  just  an  hour  since,  in  the  airy,  com- 
fortable room  at  Luciennes  so  hospitably  prepared  to 
his  tastes  by  his  kinswoman's  delicate  and  gracious 
solicitude  but  a  week  ago,  he  had  with  his  own  hands 
gathered  his  belongings  together,  the  while  matur- 
ing his  course  of  action.  This  hour  he  had  so  well 
employed  that  there  now  remained  to  him  but  a  few 
business  letters  to  write  before  descending  to  par- 
take of  that  improvised  dinner  (ordered  for  three), 
thereafter  to  turn  in  early.  For  he  proposed  to  rise 
at  a  proportionately  unusual  hour:  and  he  had  his 
reasons  for  desiring  to  be  particularly  fit. 

Two  yellow  candles  on  his  table  illumined  the 
steady  writing  and  threw  flickering  lights  and  shades 
on  the  sordid  little  room,  on  the  blue  and  grey  flock 
paper  of  laboriously  hideous  design,  on  the  flaring 
coloured  lithographs  of  Sobieski's  last  leap  and 
Mazeppa's  classic  predicament,  on  the  walnut-wood 


302      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

bedstead  that  looked  so  much  too  short,  on  the  mus- 
lin curtain,  blue-white,  stiff,  and  darned. 

George  Dodd  signed  his  fourth  and  final  letter 
with  his  bold  black  scrawl,  read  it  carefully  over, 
folded  and  sealed  it  in  the  envelope  already  addressed, 
according  to  his  methodical  business  habit.  Even 
as  he  was  withdrawing  the  seal  from  the  soft  wax 
there  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  He  turned  round 
upon  his  chair. 

"Come  in,"  cried  he,  in  French,  and  tossed  the 
letter  on  to  the  little  pile. 

The  door  was  opened  and  Favereau  entered. 

The  American  looked  coldly,  without  rising.  "  Is 
not  this  to  be  considered  rather  irregular.?  "  he  asked. 
"As  I  informed  the  Duke  of  Cluny,  my  friends  would 
be  ready  to  receive  his  "  —  he  lifted  his  great  gold 
watch  and  consulted  it  —  "  to  be  quite  precise,  at  a 
quarter  to  ten  to-night.  It  is  not  yet  nine  o'clock. 
I  am,  as  you  know.  Sir,"  he  went  on,  "a  stranger  in 
your  country  and  I  am  anxious  to  conform  to  your 
own  special  rules  of  honour. "  His  lips  were  twisted 
into  a  contemptuous  smile.  "  You  tell  me  that  my 
slap  on  his  face  gives  the  Duke  the  right  to  demand 
satisfaction  of  me  "  —  here  the  smile  became  a  hollow 
laugh  —  "I  reply :  I  am  anxious  to  give  the  Duke 
this  satisfaction.  In  my  country.  Sir,  he  should 
have  had  his  satisfaction  within  the  half -hour  with- 
out so  much  of  this  quadrille  business.  But  so  long 
as  I  can  give  your  Duke  his  satisfaction,  you  know 

"     He  struck  the  table  a  dry  knock  with  his 

knuckles  and  laughed  again. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      303 

Favereau,  who  had  carefully  closed  the  door  be- 
hind him,  stood,  his  head  a  little  bent,  listening 
with  an  air  of  profound  attention.  His  face  was 
yellow-white  and  lined  with  two  deep  furrows  run- 
ning from  the  edge  of  his  nostrils  into  his  beard. 
He  did  not  answer;  and  the  sailor  after  a  pause 
began  afresh,  the  jeering  note  in  his  voice  still 
more  pronounced : 

"You  can  tell  that  noble  Duke  of  yours  that  I  am 
quite  at  his  disposal.  My  friends  "  —  here  he  gave 
a  fillip  to  two  blue  telegraph  slips  that  lay  opened, 
one  over  the  other,  beside  him  —  "my  friends  will 
bring  what  is  necessary.  One  of  them  has  lived  a 
long  time  in  Paris;  I  am  certain  he  is  up  to  your 
ways.  Personally,  I  have  insisted  only  on  two  con- 
ditions —  not  later  than  to-morrow  morning,  and 
pistols. "  He  halted  emphatically ;  then  adding  with 
a  sort  of  mockery  of  politeness:  "Mr.  Favereau,  I 
have  the  honour  to  wish  you  good-evening,"  turned 
once  more  to  the  writing-table. 

Favereau,  however,  advanced  a  few  steps  into  the 
room. 

"Mr.  Dodd,"  he  said  very  gently,  "may  I  request 
you  to  listen  to  me  patiently  for  a  few  moments.-' " 

"It  seems  to  me,"  answered  the  other,  tossing  his 
papers  about  angrily  as  he  spoke,  "that  everything 
has  been  said  that  is  worth  saying." 

"No,  Sir."  Favereau  came  quite  up  to  the  table. 
He  leaned  his  long  white  fingers  on  it,  and  peered 
with  his  troubled,  shortsighted  eyes  earnestly  down 
at  the  inflexible  young  face.     "  Mr.   Dodd,  you  are 


304      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

very  justly  incensed.  You  have  been  very  gravely 
injured.  But  allow  me  to  represent  to  you  that  your 
vengeance  is  directed  against  the  wrong  man.  For 
the  personal  injury  to  yourself,  for  that  silence  which 
you  may  very  well  characterise  as  infamous,  I  alone 
am  responsible." 

The  sailor  raised  his  blue  eyes,  hard  as  steel,  to 
the  elder  man's  countenance. 

"Am  I  to  understand,"  said  he,  "that  you  have 
come  to  me  as  the  bearer  of  the  Duke  of  Cluny's 
apologies  .-*  " 

Favereau  threw  back  his  head  and  his  cheek 
coloured  as  if  he  had  received  a  blow. 

"No,"  he  answered  briefly;  and  the  extended  fin- 
gers were  suddenly  clenched. 

The  American's  eyelids  narrowed.  "May  I  ask, 
at  least,"  said  he,  "if  the  Duke  is  aware  of  this 
'tween-time  visit  of  yours.-'" 

The  quick  flush  faded  from  Favereau's  face  as 
quickly  as  it  had  risen.  He  looked  at  George  Dodd 
without  a  word.  A  deeper  tint  crept  likewise  into 
the  sailor's  cheek,  mounted  to  the  temples  where  it 
left  an  angry  red. 

"Well,  Sir,"  he  exclaimed  impatiently,  "will  you 
then  kindly  explain  what  your  business  is  here  to- 
night ?  " 

"  My  business  !  "  echoed  Favereau ;  he  hesitated  a 
second,  then  he  went  on  resolutely,  though  his  voice 
shook:  "I  have  but  just  mentioned  it  to  you.  It  is 
to  make  you  understand  that  it  is  I  who  have  been 
the  cause  of  your  present  humiliating  situation :  and 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      305 

that  therefore  it  is  myself  whom  you  should  meet  to- 
morrow morning." 

"  Ha !  "  commented  Lieutenant  Dodd.  The  veins 
on  his  temples  had  begun  to  swell.  "  And  what  about 
that  slap  on  the  cheek,  Sir?  If  I  shoot  you,  will  your 
Duke's  honour  be  satisfied?"  As  he  stopped,  lin- 
gering upon  the  sneer,  his  coldly  measuring  eyes 
caught  a  sudden  vindictive  spasm  upon  the  worn 
features  of  the  Minister  of  France.  Instantly  his 
whole  form  was  again  shaken  by  mocking  laughter. 
"  Oh,  oh  !  I  see,  Sir,  I  see  !  The  Duke  has  certainly 
got  a  useful  friend  in  you.  Now,  look  here,  Mr. 
Favereau  "  — he  laid  his  broad  brown  hands  upon  the 
table  with  all  the  weight  of  his  resentment  —  "I'm 
quite  of  your  opinion,  so  far:  you  ought  to  be  shot, 
Sir,  quite  as  much  as  that  Duke  of  yours.  Perhaps 
more !  But,  for  all  that,  I  am  not  going  to  stand  up 
to  you  and  give  you  the  chance  of  putting  me  out 
of  the  way  before  I  have  rid  your  country  of  that  — 
that  carrion.  No,  Sir."  He  rose,  mighty:  physi- 
cally enormous,  morally  irresistible,  in  his  anger. 
"And,  moreover,  Mr.  Favereau,  when  I  have  dis- 
charged that  duty  to  society,  I  will  not  fight  you." 
Favereau's  uplifted  hand  fell.  "You  may  live.  Sir, 
in  your  shame,  because  of  those  white  hairs." 

Favereau  drew  his  breath  with  a  deep  hissing 
sound.  For  an  instant,  in  despite  of  his  white  hairs, 
there  leaped  in  him  a  passion  so  young  and  strong 
that  he  felt  he  had  it  in  the  power  of  his  hands  to 
strangle  the  life  out  of  that  insulting  throat.  The 
next  moment  (and  then  it  was  that  all  youth  died  in 


3o6       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

him  for  ever :  thenceforward  he  was  as  an  old  man) 
his  heat  fell  from  him  like  a  mantle  and  the  cold 
hopelessness  of  age  enveloped  him. 

Why  should  he  rebel?  How  might  he  presume  to 
be  angry?  It  was  true,  his  hair  was  white  and  he 
was  shamed. 

"  Go  !  "  said  the  American,  and  pointed  to  the  door 
with  swift  and  rigid  arm. 

With  bowed  head,  Jacques  Favereau  moved  away. 
But  with  his  hand  to  the  door  he  paused  and  turned 
round. 

"Mr.  Dodd,"  said  he,  and  though  he  spoke  with 
humility,  not  knowing  that  never  at  the  height  of  his 
greatest  triumphs  had  he  shown  a  truer  dignity, 
"have  you  given  one  thought  in  all  this  to  Helen? " 

"  Have  I  given  one  thought  to  Helen  !  "  ejaculated 
the  other,  and  the  sullen  storm  of  his  rage  broke  into 
fluent  words  at  last.  "You  do  well  to  come  and 
say  this  to  me !  Pray,  Sir,  when  that  infamous  friend 
of  yours  betrayed  his  unhappy  wife,  did  he  give  one 
thought  —  to  Helen?  When  he  received  under  his 
own  roof  the  .  .  .  girl  he  had  seduced,  and  lived 
between  wife  and  mistress,  did  he  give  one  thought 
—  to  Helen?  When  you  and  he  plotted  to  marry 
the  poor  little  soiled  creature  off  to  me,  to  Helen's 
own  cousin,  to  the  silly  simple  sailor,  did  you  give 
one  thought  —  to  Helen  ?  Sir,  what  have  been  your 
own  motives  I  know  not:  the  fellow-feeling  of  the 
old  vive2ir,  or,  God  knows  —  I  don't  want  to  —  what 
other  hidden  purpose  may  have  moved  you,  incom- 
prehensible to  clean-minded  men  like  me.    Whatever 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      307 

it   may  have   been,   ask   yourself   before  you    come 
whining  to  me :  Have  you  thougJit  of  Helen  ?  " 

He  wrested  the  door  from  the  other's  clasp  and 
flung  it  open.  And  before  his  gesture  Favereau- 
passed  out.  On  the  threshold  the  most  respected 
man  in  France  turned  and  looked  full  at  him  against 
whom  he  seemed,  by  his  own  avowal,  to  have  plotted 
infamy.  It  was  the  look  of  a  soul  too  disdainful, 
too  high,  for  self -exculpation  in  the  midst  of  illimit- 
able sadness. 

The  sailor  closed  the  door  and  came  back  to  his 
table,  haunted  by  that  look. 

"  The  old  devil !"  he  growled  savagely  between  his 
teeth.  "  How  dare  he  look  at  me  with  the  eyes 
of  an  honest   man !  " 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

LIEUTENANT  DODD  walked  up  to  the  win- 
dow, flung  open  the  two  casements,  and  in- 
haled deeply. 
A  still  night,  held  with  the  first  frosts.  The  dome 
of  the  remote  heaven  wondrously  star-spangled. 
The  autumn  moon,  heavy,  lustrous,  low-sailing  in 
matronly  dignity.  The  world,  where  not  inky  black, 
striped  and  tipped  with  silver;  silver-tipped  spire 
above  the  humpback  little  black  church  of  St. 
Michel;  silver-striped  road  and  black  sentinel  pop- 
lars with  the  gleam  of  a  leaf  here  and  there  like  the 
hint  of  a  spear-head ;  rounded  shapes  of  wooded  hills, 
mysteriously  dark,  capriciously  plashed  with  light; 
black,  beautiful  upspring  of  the  dead  aqueduct  reared 
against  the  serene  sky  with  the  sparkle  of  stars 
through  its  silent  arches  —  that  was  what  met  his 
unseeing,  angry  eyes. 

Well  might  one,  looking  on  such  a  scene  and  feel- 
ing its  deep  peace  steal  into  his  soul,  have  cried  with 
the  Canon  of  Marly :  "  Beautiful  France  !  "  But  this 
alien,  as  he  gazed,  struck  the  rotting  window-ledge 
with  his  strong  fist  and  cried  in  his  indignant  heart : 
"  Accursed  land  !  " 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      309 

From  below  a  clink  of  glass  and  a  wrangle  of 
coarse,  dull  French  voices  rose  faintly  to  the  ear. 
Presently  out  of  the  sweet  distant  stillness  a  grow- 
ing rumble  of  carriage  wheels  came  into  being  and 
grew.  The  beat  of  eight  iron  shoes  measured  a 
rhythmic  tune  on  the  hard  road.    And  all  of  a  sudden  : 

"That's  from  Luciennes,"  thought  Lieutenant 
Dodd. 

The  Marquise  de  Lormes  came  up  the  narrow 
painted  wooden  stairs,  her  hand  on  Totol's  shoulder, 
pausing  to  sigh  at  every  third  step. 

Her  elder  son  met  her  on  the  threshold  of  his 
room.  Nothing  perhaps  could  have  been  more  pro- 
foundly irritating  to  him  than  the  appearance  of  his 
relative  at  this  moment. 

After  a  fashion  pathetically  different  from  her 
usual  self-controlled  majesty,  the  lady  tottered  to  her 
chair  and  loosened  the  folds  of  the  vast  black  circu- 
lar dust-cloak  in  which  she  was  enveloped.  Over  a 
penitential  bonnet  an  immense  veil  of  black  gauze 
had  been  tied  under  her  chin. 

"  Close  the  door,  Anatole, "  she  said  in  an  unusually 
softened  tone.  And  Totol,  more  like  a  small  man- 
monkey  than  ever,  his  face  wrinkled  with  perturba- 
tion and  worldly  wisdom,  silently  obeyed. 

Dodd,  unconsciously  a  little  moved  at  the  sight 
of  a  stateliness  so  broken,  came  over  and  touched 
gently  the  poor  lady's  hand. 

"My  dear  Mother,"  he  said,  "believe  me,  you  can 
do  no  good   here.     Pray  let  me  bring  you  back  to 


3IO      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

the  carriage  without  any  further  words,  words  which 
can  only  be  painful  to  both  of  us." 

Madame  de  Lormes  slowly  turned  upon  him  eyes 
which  had  shed  many  tears  since  he  had  last  come 
under  their  usually  reproving  glance. 

"George,"  she  answered  faintly,  "we  must  do  our 
duty."  Here  the  corners  of  her  lips  began  to  quiver 
and  water  welled  up  again  to  the  empurpled  eyelids. 
She  made  a  gesture  towards  the  little  Marquis,  and 
pressed  against  her  mouth  the  damp  folds  of  her 
handkerchief.  Anatole,  on  his  side,  cleared  his 
throat. 

"The  poor  Majjtan  is  very  much  upset,"  said  he. 
"  So  am  I.  So  is  everybody.  Rotten  business  alto- 
gether! But  see  here,  old  man.  You 're  well  out 
of  it,  ain't  you?  All 's  well  that  ends  well.  Drop 
it,  won't  you.' " 

"  Drop  what  ?  "  said  the  sailor,  shortly. 

"  Why "     The  Marquis  closed  three  fingers  of 

his  right  hand  and,  extending  the  index  and  elevating 
the  thumb,  pointed  the  anatomical  arrangement  at 
his  brother's  heart,  one  eye  screwed  up,  the  other 
nicely  adjusted  to  an  aim.  Then  he  gave  one  signi- 
ficant cluck  of  the  tongue,  dropped  the  mimic  pistol 
hand,  and  shook  his  head  gravely  from  side  to  side: 
"It  won't  do,  George,  it  won't  do." 

George  Dodd  sat  down  on  the  wooden  bedstead, 
swung  his  legs,  and  began  to  whistle  "The  Washing- 
ton Post  "  under  his  breath.  After  a  minute's  silence, 
broken  only  by  Madame  de  Lormes'  sighs,  he  looked 
at  her  and  said  with  assumed  cheerfulness: 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      311 

"You'll  just  say  when  you  feel  rested  enough 
to  go  down  to  the  carriage,  Ma'am."  Then  he  re- 
sumed his  tune  exactly  where  he  had  left  it  off. 

Totol  stood,  reflectively  frowning,  his  thumbs  in- 
serted into  the  armholes  of  his  waistcoat.  All  at 
once  he  burst  into  fresh  eloquence : 

"What  we  've  got  to  show  here,  George,  is  tact. 
Tact,  my  good  fellow.  Look  at  me.  I  have  agreed 
to  be  one  of  Charles-Edward's  seconds,  old  Favereau 
the  other  second.  Why.-*  To  keep  the  affair  as 
much  as  possible  in  the  family,  of  course.  But  hang 
it  all  —  why  fight  at  all }  A  little  tact,  George,  my 
boy !  " 

His  mother  suspended  her  quivering  breath  to 
hang  upon  the  sailor's  reply.  The  latter  had  ceased 
whistling,  and  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground  seemed 
to  be  lost  in  profound  reflection.  At  last,  looking 
up,  he  said  with  a  slight  smile: 

"  Well,  now,  really  I  'd  rather  like  to  know  what 's 
your  idea  of  tact  in  this  matter." 

Totol's  face  creased  itself  into  different  folds,  now 
betokening  a  smile. 

"  It  is  n't  so  easy,  you  see,"  he  said.  "  I  've  had  to 
think  devilish  hard,  but  I  'vegot  it  all  straight  now." 
He  sidled  over  to  the  bed  and  laid  a  bony  forefinger 
impressively  on  his  brother's  arm. 

"You  've  just  got  to  pack  your  traps  and  make  for 
America  to-night."  He  drew  back  his  finger  and 
the  upper  part  of  his  body  and  smiled  more  broadly. 
"See.?  You're  an  American:  no  need  for  you  to 
fight   duels.     See.?     And   after  your  —  er."     Totol 


312      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

here  had  once  more  recourse  to  mimicry,  screwed  up 
one  side  of  his  face,  struck  it  gently  with  his  hand, 
and  nodded.  "After  that,  you  know,  it  wouldn't 
look  well  for  you  to  remain  in  the  same  country  with 
Cluny.  On  the  other  hand,  if  you  are  gone,  don't 
you  know,  our  Charles-Edward  cannot  fight  you. 
How  could  he?  So  the  matter  ends  there,  as  it 
began  —  eji  famille,  no  one  the  wiser.  Things  re- 
main bad  enough,  but  they  don't  grow  worse. 
See.?" 

"Oh,"  responded  the  other,  blandly.  "Yes,  I 
think  I  see."  Then  he  slid  off  the  bed,  took  Totol 
by  the  elbow  and  marched  him  carefully  towards  the 
door.  "You're  a  mighty  humourous  young  man," 
he  remarked,  and  opened  the  door.  "  Good-night. 
Go  to  bed.     You  've  got  to  get  up  early,  you  know." 

"Oh,  I  say,"  cried  Totol,  falling  dismally  from 
his  height  of  self-satisfaction.  "  Eh,  Manian,  that 
means  he  won't !  " 

Madame  de  Lormes  rose  suddenly  from  her  chair. 
She  approached  the  sailor,  clasping  her  hands. 

"George,"  she  cried,  "I  beg  of  you,  reflect.  It 
is  a  deadly  sin  to  try  and  take  the  life  of  another." 

"I'll  not  be  afraid.  Ma'am,"  answered  Lieu- 
tenant Dodd,  gravely,  "when  I  stand  up  for  judg- 
ment, if  I  've  nothing  worse  on  my  soul  than  the 
killing  of  the  Due  de  Cluny." 

A  moan  escaped  the  old  lady's  lips.  The  tears 
began  to  stream  down  her  cheeks. 

"  I  implore  you,"  she  again  cried,  "for  the  sake  of 
my  unhappy  niece,  for  the  sake  of  Helen  !  " 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      313 

The  sailor's  face  became  set  into  marble,  "It  is 
not  I,  Ma'am,  who  have  made  Helen  an  unhappy 
woman.     The  thing  is  already  done,  I  take  it." 

"  Have  mercy  !  " 

"As  much  mercy  as  I  should  have  on  a  mad 
dog!" 

"  Fie,  fie !  "  said  Totol  from  the  landing,  pushing 
the  door  open  and  coming  in  again.  He  slipped  his 
little  thin  arm  round  his  mother's  massive  figure, 
looking  the  while  reproachfully  at  his  brother, 
"That's  not  nice  of  you,  George,  not  nice  at  all! 
Nevermind,  Mammi,"  he  added  naively,  "Cluny  has 
a  chance  too,  you  know." 

Madame  de  Lormes  shook  her  head  miserably, 
and  a  bent,  doleful  figure  passed  out  of  the  inn  room 
with  dragging  steps.  But  at  the  head  of  the  stairs 
she  turned  and  caught  the  hand  of  the  sailor, 

"My  son,"  she  pleaded,  "will  you  not  listen  to 
your  mother?  " 

The  American  smiled  with  some  bitterness.  "  You 
see,  Madam,"  said  he,  "when  you  speak  of  my 
mother  you  are  speaking  of  a  person  whom  the  late 
Septimus  P.  Dodd's  son  was  never  allowed  to  know. 
I  should  be  mightily  flattered  could  I  feel  that  all 
this  anxiety  concerned  in  any  way  the  insignificant 
personality  of  the  Lieutenant  George  P.  Dodd  afore- 
said. But  I  imagine  the  condescension  of  the  noble 
Marquise  de  Lormes  (whose  acquaintance  I  have  been 
privileged  to  make  a  week  ago)  could  hardly  reach 
so  low." 

With  fluttering,  palsied  movements,   Madame  de 


314      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Lormes  gathered  the  folds  of  her  cloak  about  her 
and  pulled  the  black  gauze  over  her  discomposed 
countenance. 

"Won't  you  take  my  arm?"  asked  George.  But 
she  motioned  him  from  her  with  anger. 

"Come  with  me,  poor  Mainaii,"  said  Totol,  sooth- 
ingly. And,  rolling  one  last  look  of  deep  reproba- 
tion on  his  brother,  he  proceeded  on  the  gallant  task 
of  conveying  his  mother's  tottering  frame  down- 
stairs. 

With  a  cold  smile  the  elder  son  followed  in  rear. 


At  the  door  of  the  inn  a  cab  had  just  deposited 
two  new-comers.  They  took  off  their  hats  gravely, 
and  displayed  clean-cut,  vigorous,  unmistakably 
Anglo-Saxon  features. 

"I  have  ordered  supper  and  your  rooms,"  said 
Dodd  over  his  shoulder,  as  he  went  by  them  in  pur- 
suance of  his  unaccepted  filial  duty.  "  I  shall  be  with 
you  in  a  moment." 

"A  heart  of  stone!  "  groaned  the  Marquise  as  she 
sank  back  in  the  carriage. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

THE  still  night  had  faded  and  pulsed  into  the 
grey  of  dawn.  Through  the  open  curtains  of 
Helen's  own  sitting-room  the  first  luminous 
pallor  of  returning  day  had  begun  to  bleach  the 
windows.  The  white-tapestried  room  was  dim  in 
the  contending  shades  of  night  and  day.  The  two 
candles  in  the  silver  sconces  burned  dim  orange  in 
colour,  the  hitherto  steady  flame  in  the  red  lamp 
hanging  in  the  alcove  oratory  had  begun  to  rise  and 
fall  with  the  failing  of  the  oil. 

The  hour  of  dawn,  to  so  many  the  hour  of  death,  to 
all  the  hour  of  cold,  of  mystery,  of  vague  apprehension 
.  .  .  the  Duke  of  Cluny  felt  the  chill  of  it  into  his 
very  marrow  ! 

He  rose  stiffly  from  the  hearth,  where  the  last  vital 
spark  had  died,  buried  under  the  white  ash;  where, 
seated  the  long  night  through,  gazing  at  the  dwin- 
dling fire,  he  had  thought  back  the  thoughts  of  a 
lifetime. 

He  went  over  to  the  window  and  noiselessly,  with 
endless  care,  undid  the  casements  and  pushed  them 
open. 

White  mist  hung  over  the  garden,  hiding  terrace 
slopes  and  park  alleys.     Its  faint,  sickly  breath  rose 


3i6       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

to  his  nostrils,  struck  his  cheek,  and  left  its  clammy 
touch  upon  it. 

"It  is  the  dawn,"  said  the  man  under  his  breath. 
"  It  is  the  dawn.     How  cold  !  " 

He  came  forward  into  the  room  again,  halted  by 
Helen's  door,  and  with  bent  head  listened. 

A  bell  from  some  clock  without  struck  the  half- 
hour.  Cluny  looked  at  his  watch:  it  was  half-past 
five.  Slowly  spread  the  dawn,  ever  more  bleakly 
white. 

The  door  upon  the  passage  opened  upon  a  cautious 
hand,  and  Favereau  entered.  Cluny  looked  at  him 
in  silence.  How  old  he  was  growing,  poor  old 
Favereau  ! 

The  two  men  met  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"It  is  time,  Edward,"  said  Favereau,  in  a  low 
voice. 

Answered  Cluny  in  the  same  tone;  "I  am  ready." 

After  a  second's  hesitation  Favereau  laid  his  hand 
on  his  friend's  shoulder. 

"  Have  you  seen  Helen }  "  he  asked. 

The  other  turned  his  face  with  the  nobility  of 
mortal  agony  bravely  supported  stamped  upon  it. 

"No.  I  have  listened  at  her  door  all  night. 
There  has  been  no  sound  from  her.  Blanchette  is 
there.     Helen  seems  to  be  able  to  bear  her  presence 

—  it  is  no  more  obtrusive  than  that  of  a  faithful  dog 

—  no  one  else's.  Since  she  recovered  conscious- 
ness she  has  said  but  four  words :  '  Let  me  be 
alone  ! '  " 

"It  is  better  so,"  said  Favereau,  with  a  twitching 
lip. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      317 

And  meekly  Cluny  repeated :  "  Yes,  it  is  better  so. " 

The  two  spoke  as  men  speak  in  a  death-chamber, 
in  voices  subdued  to  the  lowest  pitch. 

A  tiny  pallid  shaft  of  light  suddenly  pierced  into 
the  room.  Favereau  pointed  to  it  with  significant 
gesture. 

"I  know,"  said  Cluny.  "I  know."  He  turned  to 
his  wife's  door  again,  leaned  his  forehead  against  it, 
and  folded  his  hands  for  a  moment  in  prayer.  Not  for 
himself  —  how  could  such  as  he  pray  for  themselves.-' 
—  but  for  her,  that  she  might  find  strength  to  bear 
it  all.     Then  he  came  back  to  Favereau. 

"I  am  ready,"  he  said  quietly. 

Favereau,  turning  to  go  with  him,  suddenly 
stopped  himself  and  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Ready !  "  he  exclaimed  in  a  fierce  whisper,  and 
ran  his  eye  indignantly  over  his  friend's  figure. 
"  Not  with  that  coat,  man ! "  He  tapped  with  his 
finger  the  light  summer  grey  coat  and  the  white  ex- 
panse of  shirt  front.  "  You  want  to  turn  yourself 
into  a  target  for  that  fellow's  ball?  " 

Cluny  withdrew  himself  from  his  touch  and  smiled 
upon  him  placidly,  remotely. 

"  My  dear  Favereau,  what  else  "i  " 

The  Minister  stared  a  second,  then  cast  down  his 
eyes  to  hide  a  rush  of  weak,  angry  tears. 

"And  your  hand,"  he  went  on  huskily,  "after 
sitting  up  all  night?" 

The  Duke  held  out  his  slender  hand  and  looked 
at  it. 

"  Quite  steady  enough,"  said  he,  "for  my  purpose." 


3i8       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

But  Favereau  gripped  him  by  the  elbow.     "  For 

your   purpose!      That   means,    Edward "      His 

voice  broke.  "  I  did  not  bargain  to  stand  by  and  see 
murder  done  upon  you." 

" Not  murder  —  justice." 

Favereau' s  head  fell  upon  his  breast.  Once  more 
he  moved  to  the  door,  once  more  he  stopped. 

"I  have  ordered,"  he  said,  " some  coffee  for  you. 
You  will  drink  that."    His  eyes  were  pleading. 

Cluny,  who,  with  brow  held  aloft  and  abstracted 
gaze,  had  reached  the  threshold,  seemed  to  bring 
himself  back  with  an  effort  from  his  far  thoughts 
as  he  turned  to  answer  him. 

"Thanks,  old  friend."  His  voice  had  something 
of  its  old  natural  note  instead  of  the  toneless  whisper 
in  which  he  had  hitherto  spoken.  "To  please  you 
I  would  drink  it,  that  or  anything  else,  and  pledge 
our  friendship  a  last  time.  But  "  —  again  his  eyes 
became  fixed  on  unearthly  distance  —  "I  want  to  go 
fasting  to  this  new  sacrament." 

"This  new  sacrament.?  " 

"The  sacrament  of  death,"  said  Cluny. 

Favereau  stared  at  him.  He  had  loved  Cluny  all 
his  life,  in  his  beautiful  adolescence  and  his  foolish 
manhood,  and  loved  him,  rebuking,  disapproving 
without  hope,  without  respect.  And  had  he  known 
him  so  little.?  This,  then,  was  the  real  Cluny,  the 
"better  self  "  that  Helen  loved!  He  was  going  to 
his  death  like  the  son  of  a  king.  Yesterday  it  had 
seemed  to  him,  in  some  horrible  way,  as  if  his 
friend's  soul  were  already  dead  and  only  the  body  left 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      319 

living.  Now,  on  his  way  to  that  bodily  dissolution 
which  they  both  instinctively  felt  was  awaiting  him, 
Cluny's  soul  so  dominated  his  mere  humanity  that 
it  was  as  if  already  freed  from  its  gross  earthly  ties, 
already  spreading  its  wings  for  a  flight. 

"  Do  you  think  she  would  have  forgiven  —  if  I  had 
lived  .^"  said  Cluny,  without  looking  at  his  friend. 

So  completely  had  he  already  expired  to  himself 
that  it  was  quite  unconsciously  he  spoke  of  himself 
as  a  thing  of  the  past  when  he  whispered  the 
question. 

Profoundly  startled,  profoundly  troubled,  Favereau 
stammered  miserably,  could  find  no  words. 

Cluny  gave  a  deep  sigh. 

"Let  us  go,"  said  he. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

HER  "  Missie  "  was  asleep.  Blanchette  had 
sung  Helen  to  slumber  at  last,  as  in  those 
never-forgotten  days  of  yore  when  her  foster 
babe  lay  upon  her  faithful  bosom. 

The  mulatto  rose  noiselessly  from  her  seat  by  the 
bed  and,  without  hushing  the  soft  crooning  song  that 
had  not  been  silent  on  her  lips  the  whole  night 
through,  bent  to  look  as  well  as  she  could  in  the  dim 
light  of  the  night  lamp. 

Helen's  breath  came  in  regular  sweeps;  one  long 
lovely  hand  lay  relaxed  on  the  sheet;  under  the 
shadow  of  her  heavy  hair  the  peace  of  sleep  which  is 
next  to  the  peace  of  death  had  at  last  settled  on  the 
wan  face. 

Still  crooning,  Blanchette  drew  back,  crossed  the 
room  on  tiptoe,  opened  the  door  noiselessly,  and, 
leaving  it  a  hair's  breadth  ajar,  crept  into  the  sitting- 
room,  her  song  a  little  louder  now  lest  the  sleeper 
should  wake  for  the  sudden  want  of  her  lullaby. 

"  Old  Missie  act  the  foolest  part. 
And  died  for  a  man  that  broke  her  heart, 
Look  away,  look  away,  away." 

Thus  went  the  wailing  tune,  in  the  pathetic  negro 
voice,  breaking  off,  now  into  a  sort  of  trail  of  sub- 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      321 

dued  sound,  now  into  a  long  yawn,  as  the  dusky 
creature  moved  about  the  room  in  her  dumb  list- 
shoes.  She  lit  the  spirit  lamp  on  Helen's  untouched 
tea-tray  of  the  night  before,  intent  on  making  a  re- 
freshing cup  for  her  mistress  against  a  possible  early 

waking. 

"  Look  away,  look  away,  away," 

sang  Blanchette,  and  stretched  herself  and  yawned. 

Misty  sunshine  was  now  flooding  in  in  horizontal 
sheets  through  the  open  window.  She  caught  sight 
of  the  candles  still  flaring  in  their  sockets  and 
arrested  her  song  to  blow  them  out. 

At  the  same  instant  the  far-off  crack  of  two  shots, 
almost  simultaneous,  rang  from  some  glade  in  the 
park  below.  Blanchette  listened  for  a  moment  in- 
differently, then  took  up  her  monotonous  chant  once 

more : 

"  Then  I  wish  I  was  in  Dixie  .   .  . 
Hurray,  hurray,  hurray  !  " 

The  passage  door  creaked  and  opened.  Madame 
Rodriguez,  wrapped  in  a  dressing-gown,  her  little 
face  drawn  and  ashen-coloured,  crept  shivering  into 
the  room. 

"My!"  she  cried,  breaking  into  a  run.  "I  am 
glad  to  see  a  human  face  if  it  is  only  a  coloured  one  ! 
Blanchette,  woman,  I  'm  frightened;  I  never  was  so 
frightened  in  all  my  life !  " 

Blanchette  had  stared  at  the  new-comer  open- 
mouthed.  But  when  the  voice  was  raised  she  disen- 
gaged her  hand  to  clap  it.  unceremoniously  over 
the  speaker's  lips. 


322       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"  Hush,  hush,  hush,  you  wake  Missie !  She  only 
just  gone  off  in  de  lobliest  sound  sleep! " 

Nessie  started.  With  a  nod  she  advanced  on  tip- 
toe to  Helen's  door,  listened  for  a  moment,  then, 
again  nodding  at  Blanchette,  closed  it  with  such 
infinite  care  that  not  even  a  click  was  heard;  then 
she  ran  back. 

"Did  you  hear  those  shots?  "  she  whispered. 

Blanchette  was  peering  into  the  kettle.  '*  Reckon 
that  keeper  fellow  popping  round.  Hope  he  not  go 
for  to  wake  my  Missie." 

Nessie  seized  her  with  cold  fingers.  "  Where  is 
the  Duke  ?  " 

Blanchette  lowered  the  kettle  lid  to  stare  again 
with  round  eyes. 

"Lor  a'mussy!  I  dunno,  Ma'am  Rodriguez." 
Her  dark  face  became  filled  with  the  pitiful,  uncom- 
prehending trouble  of  a  child.  "  Sho'  dis  has  been 
de  strangest  night !  " 

Restlessly  Madame  Rodriguez  went  to  the  win- 
dow and  leaned  out;  restlessly  she  came  back,  sat 
down  by  the  table,  her  hands  catching  at  the  loose 
masses  of  her  hair. 

"  Oh,  those  shots,  those  shots  !  "  She  sprang  to 
her  feet,  her  face  suddenly  livid.  "  Blanchette, 
something  has  happened !  My  God,  and  Helen  is 
asleep !  " 

The  woman  turned  upon  her  fiercely.  "Don't 
wake  my  Missie  !  " 

"No,  no,"  cried  Nessie,  in  a  sort  of  sobbing 
whisper.     "God   help   her,  let  her   sleep!      Hush! 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      323 

Don't  you  hear?"  Once  more  she  gripped  Blan- 
chette  by  the  wrist.  "Don't  you  hear?  They're 
coming  back! " 

The  healthy  copper  colour  of  the  mulatto's  cheek 
turned  suddenly  grey.  Infected  by  the  other's  fears, 
she  stood  frozen,  striving  to  catch  the  approaching 
sound  of  the  unknown  calamity.  There  was  indeed 
a  murmur  of  voices  on  the  terrace  path  and  a  curious, 
steady,  muffled  tramp  of  feet.     Then  silence. 

Still  clutching  each  other  the  women  listened. 
Now  there  came  a  step  upon  the  stairs.  Now  it  was 
coming  down  the  passage.  The  door  was  opened, 
Favereau  entered. 

One  look  at  his  face  was  enough  for  Nessie:  she 
staggered  forward  with  a  husky  cry. 

"  Oh,  Monsieur  Favereau,  the  Duke  !  " 

Favereau  lifted  his  hand  and  let  it  fall  without  a 
word.  Nessie  covered  her  face.  But  Favereau  had 
come  up  to  her  and  was  now  speaking  rapidly, 
earnestly : 

"  He  has  asked  to  be  brought  here.  Here,  do  you 
understand  me  ?  Lebel  is  doing  what  he  can,  but  it 
is  only  a  question  of  minutes,  .  .  .  Madame  Rodri- 
guez, are  you  listening?  Some  one  must  prepare 
Helen." 

Here  Blanchette  thrust  her  large,  grey,  bewildered 
face  between  them,  with  but  one  thing  clear  in  her 
child-like  brain : 

"Missie  asleep!" 

"There  is  no  time  to  lose,"  insisted  Favereau. 
"The  minutes  .   .   ."  —  a  spasm  contracted  his  face. 


324       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

his  voice  broke,  but  he  went  on :  "  the  minutes  are 
counted.  Madame  Rodriguez,  you  are  her  friend 
—  will  you  tell  Helen?" 

She  beat  him  off  with  frantic  little  hands.  "I.'' 
Oh,  I  could  n't  do  it !  Monsieur  Favereau,  I  could  n't 
do  it.     Don't  ask  me  !  " 

Favereau  looked  at  her,  cowering  and  fluttering, 
with  angry,  despairing  eyes. 

"  Her  aunt,  then.     Where  is  she.?  "  he  urged. 

At  that  moment  Madame  de  Lormes  in  person 
answered  the  question.  Still  in  the  clothes  of  the 
previous  evening,  she  entered,  stately,  erect,  her 
large  features  set  like  a  mask  of  yellow  wax. 

"  Madame,"  said  Favereau,  turning  upon  her,  "you 
have  heard .-"  " 

The  old  lady  trembled,  yet  stood  with  uplifted 
head. 

"  My  son  ?  " 

"  No."  Again  the  bitter  spasm  distorted  Favereau's 
face.  "The  Duke  ...  he  shot  in  the  air.  Your 
son's  bullet  was  aimed  but  too  well." 

Madame  de  Lormes  seemed  to  break  to  pieces. 
She  fell  into  a  chair,  covering  her  countenance  with 
the  folds  of  her  lace  veil.  Nessie  flew  to  her, 
sobbing. 

"  No,  it 's  the  Duke,  the  poor  dear  beautiful  Duke, 
and  Helen 's  asleep,  in  there,  and  she 's  got  to 
be  told,  and  you  've  got  to  do  it ! "  She  shook 
Madame  de  Lormes  vehemently  by  the  elbow. 
"  You  've  got  to  do  it ;  you  've  got  to  tell  her,  I  tell 
you.     There  's  not  a  moment  to  lose." 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      2'^S 

Favereau  bent  down  on  the  other  side.  *'  Madame 
Rodriguez  is  right,"  he  urged,  "there  is  not  a 
moment  to  lose  if  Helen  is  to  say  good-bye  to  her 
husband." 

The  Marquise  gathered  herself  together,  and  sud- 
denly rising,  faced  them  in  majesty  and  anger. 

"And  you  expect  me  to  be  the  one  to  tell  my 
unhappy  niece  that  my  son  has  killed  her  husband.-' " 

A  long  cry  broke  from  Blanchette.  She  clapped 
her  hands  together. 

"  Massa  killed !  Massa  we  loved  so,  our  good, 
lovely  massa !  " 

All  rushed  to  silence  her,  too  late !  Helen's 
voice  from  the  inner  room  was  heard  calling: 

"  Blanchette  !  " 

Had  those  gentle  accents  been  the  trump  of  doom 
they  could  not  have  struck  greater  consternation. 
Nessie  burst  into  uncontrolled  sobs  and  fled. 
Madame  de  Lormes,  again  veiling  her  face  with  the 
dignified  gesture  of  a  Roman  matron,  passed  out  in 
her  wake. 

Favereau  stood  a  second  in  a  mortal  hesitancy. 
Then,  crying  to  the  old  nurse:  "Keep  her  quiet  a 
moment,  I'll  send  the  Doctor  —  better  still  the 
Canon;  he  must  be  here  by  this,"  he  too  took  his 
coward's   flight. 

"  O  Christ  in  heaven !  "  exclaimed  the  poor 
mulatto,  again  striking  her  palms  together.  "  What 
shall  I  say  to  Missie !  " 

Once  more  came  the  voice  from  within  in  louder 
cadence : 

"Blanchette!" 


CHAPTER   XL 

THE  folds  of  her  white  morning  wrapper  falling 
in  long  statuesque  lines  about  her,  Helen 
advanced  wearily  into  the  room. 

"  Is  it  only  you,  Blanchette  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I 
thought  I  heard  voices."  She  let  herself  fall  into  a 
chair  as  she  spoke  and  leant  her  brow  on  both  hands. 
Then  without  looking  up  she  added:  "Tell  your 
master  that  I  want  to  see  him." 

A  deep  sigh  escaped  her  lips.  Within  her  her  heart 
was  crying  out :  The  whole  night  has  passed,  the  sun 
has  already  riseit,  and  he  does  not  yet  know  that  I  have 
forgiven  ! 

Her  temples  throbbed.  Shattered  by  the  mental 
shock,  there  was  but  one  idea  dominant  amid  the 
whirling  sadness  of  her  thoughts:  that  Cluny  must 
be  in  sore  trouble,  that  he  needed  her. 

All  at  once  she  became  aware  that  her  order  was 
not  being  obeyed. 

"Blanchette,"  she  repeated,  "did  you  not  hear? 
Go  and  fetch  your  master." 

The  woman  uttered  a  loud  sobbing  wail,  and 
coming  behind  her  mistress  caught  her  head  in  her 
arms. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      327 

"Oh,  Missie!  Honey  Missie,  lie  on  poor  old 
black  Mammy's  bosom  as  you  used  to !  Oh  Lordy, 
Lordy,  dat  it  should  be  me  to  break  her  heart !  " 

All  her  vigour  of  mind  and  body  came  back  to 
Helen  at  this  hint  of  new  calamity.  She  sprang  to 
her  feet. 

"What!  What!  Your  master.?  Blanchette, 
what  is  it .?      Speak,   I  order  you  !  " 

"Massa's  some  hurt,  Missie,"  sobbed  the  nurse. 
"Massa  and  the  Captain  they  go  shooting  I  spect 
.   ,  .   and  oh,  Lordy  woe  de  day  I  " 

She  fell  upon  her  knees  and  hid  her  poor  convulsed 
countenance  in  the  folds  of  the  Duchess'  robes. 
Helen  stood  still  a  second,  rigid;  then  she  gave  a 
rending  cry: 

"  Ah,  and  I  was  asleep  !     Where  is  he  .-*  " 

Fiercely  she  fought  against  the  clinging,  loving 
hands  that  caught  round  her  knees.  She  had  broken 
from  their  hold  and  was  rushing  forward  when  she 
saw  Dr.  Lebel  before  her. 

He  was  standing,  looking  at  her,  his  spectacles 
pushed  up  high  on  his  frowning  forehead  ;  with  finger 
and  thumb  he  was  wringing  his  nether  lip. 

"Doctor — Cluny?"  The  question  died  away  on 
her  lips  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  his  face.  "  Oh,  is  it 
as  bad  as  that  —  is  it  as  bad  as  that !  " 

She  reeled  and  he  caught  her. 

"For  God's  sake,"  he  cried,  "don't  give  way  now; 
he  wants  you. " 

"He  wants  me."  She  steadied  herself.  "No,  I 
shall  not  give  way  now.  Don't  be  afraid.  I  am 
strong." 


328       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

The  Doctor  peered  at  her  keenly.  "  That 's  right, 
that 's  a  brave  woman  !  They  are  bringing  him  here. 
Keep  up;  it  won't  be  for  long." 

He  hurried  out  of  the  room  and  left  her  standing. 
With  eyes  fixed  straight  before  her  upon  a  vision  of 
immeasurable  sorrow,  slowly  she  repeated : 

"It  won't  be  for  long." 

They  were  carrying  him  in.  The  majordomo, 
with  the  difficult  tears  of  age  streaming  down  his 
face,  at  the  head;  Jean,  sobbing  out  loud,  at  the 
feet.  They  had  laid  him  on  a  stretcher  roughly 
made  out  of  a  hurdle  covered  with  cloaks;  under  his 
head  they  had  placed  a  cushion  of  purple  silk,  and 
over  the  long,  still  limbs  they  had  lightly  thrown  a 
purple  plush  rug.  His  eyes  were  closed,  his  face 
with  the  stamp  of  death  upon  it  was  serene.  They 
gently  set  him  down  at  Helen's  feet. 

The  Doctor  stood  gazing  at  him  for  a  second;  then 
he  motioned  the  servants  away,  looked  at  Helen  again 
searchingly,  then  drew  back  into  the  window  recess. 

Blanchette  had  crouched  into  a  corner  and  was 
rocking  herself,  moaning  under  her  breath,  her  dog- 
like gaze  fixed  upon  her  mistress.  The  misty  day 
had  brightened  into  glory,  and  sunshine  was  now 
streaming  in  upon  them. 

Cluny  opened  his  eyes:  "Helen." 

Helen  slowly  fell  on  her  knees  by  his  side:  "My 
beloved  !  " 

"I  can't  lift  my  hand,  Helen.  Will  you  take  it 
—  the  hand  with  the  wedding  ring." 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      329 

His  voice  was  very  faint,  but  he  spoke  naturally, 
simply.  She  took  his  hand  between  both  hers. 
With  difficulty  he  moved  his  head  a  little  nearer  to 
her. 

"Are  you  holding  my  hand,  Helen.''  " 

"Yes,  Cluny." 

"  My  wife  !  "  These  words  he  said  very  clearly, 
almost  loudly,  and  then  there  was  a  pause.  "  Where 
am  I  to  begin  ?  "  he  went  on,  a  look  of  trouble  gath- 
ering upon  his  face.  "I  don't  know  —  and  the  end 
is  so  soon  !  " 

Her  love  brooded  over  him  like  the  mother  bird's 
over  its  young.     As  if  speaking  to  a  little  child: 

"I  know  everything  you  want  to  say,"  she  cried; 
"say  nothing." 

His  voice  grew  fainter,  his  eye  dim.  "And  I  who 
would  have  given  my  life  to  save  you  a  tear  —  I  have 
no  words.     Forgive." 

Helen  answered  back  to  him  :  "  I  love  you  !  " 

He  went  on,  ever  more  faintly:  "It  is  right  as  it 
is  —  death  expiates.  What  do  you  say  ?  I  cannot 
hear." 

Closer  she  bent  to  him,  laid  her  cheek  on  the  pil- 
low beside  him. 

"I  love  you  !  " 

"There  must  be  mercy  with  the  God  who  made 
you." 

He  spoke  wanderingly,  his  eyes  feebly  seeking 
some  distant  vision. 

The  Duchess  rose  to  her  feet.  "He  is  faint," 
she  exclaimed  with  a  sharp  cry.  "Doctor,  give  him 
something,  quick !  " 


330      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

Lebel  hurried  over,  stooped  down,  raised  himself 
again,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Give  him  something  !  "  repeated  Helen,  fiercely. 

The  Doctor  patted  her  shoulder.  "  Keep  up, 
child,  keep  up  —  a  very  little  while  longer." 

"  It  is  the  end  !  "  said  Cluny.  His  voice  rose  with 
sudden  strength.  "Let  me  be  brought  into  your 
room.  And  let  us  be  alone.  Let  me  be  alone  — 
alone  with  you  and  God.  Helen,  you  have  always 
done  everything  for  me:  offer  up  my  soul;  I  am 
going." 

The  Doctor  ran  out  to  call  in  the  waiting  servants. 
Helen  herself  opened  the  great  folding  doors  be- 
tween the  two  rooms.  She  came  back  and  again  took 
up  her  husband's  inert  hand,  just  as,  under  Lebel's 
directions,  the  servants  were  lifting  the  stretcher. 
With  a  supreme  effort  Cluny  turned  his  head  to  look 
at  her  with  eyes  growing  rapidly  blind. 

"Your  room,"  he  whispered.  "Ah,  Helen,  it  is 
all  over!" 

"Don't  touch  him!"  ordered  Lebel.  "Lay  the 
stretcher  on  the  bed.     There,  there." 

The  servants  filed  out ;  the  Doctor  followed  them, 
closing  the  doors  with  care  behind  him.  His  hand 
was  still  on  the  lock  when  in  rushed  the  Canon,  his 
white  hair  disordered,  in  full  vestments.  Lebel 
hurried  up  to  him. 

Breathlessly  the  priest  spoke :  "  I  was  in  the 
middle  of  my  mass  !  I  came  as  soon  as  I  could  leave 
the  altar. "  He  looked  round  him  in  agony.  "  Am 
I  too  late?" 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      331 

"No,"  said  the  Doctor,  his  face  working.  "No; 
but  only  just  in  time.  Hurry,  man,  hurry !  I  've 
done  all  I  could.  I  can  do  nothing  more.  It  is  — 
it  is  your  turn  now." 

The  single  note  of  the  chapel  bell  of  Luciennes 
floated  in  through  the  window. 

"  Where  is  he  .-•  "  cried  the  Canon,  bewildered. 

The  Doctor  seized  him  by  the  elbow. 

"In  her  room.  Hurry!"  He  opened  the  door, 
pushed  his  old  friend  in  and  closed  it  again  behind 
him.  Again  the  bell  note  was  heard ;  first  the  single 
warning  stroke,  then  the  beat  of  the  plaintive  vibra- 
tion dying  reluctantly  into  silence. 

The  Doctor  started.  "These  cursed  mediaeval 
customs  —  as  if  life  were  not  sad  enough  already  !  " 
he  wailed  within  himself. 

Up  went  finger  and  thumb  to  his  lip.  He  stood 
by  the  door,  bitterly  waiting. 


CHAPTER   XLI 

LED  by  Madame  de  Lormes,  the  household  of 
Luciennes,  with  the  murmur,  as  it  might  be, 
of  many  waters,  came  trooping  into  the  room 
which  was  the  antechamber  of  death.  Some  as  yet 
scarce  dressed,  with  bewildered  sleepy  stare;  the 
English  coachman  with  impassive  face;  a  couple  of 
game-keepers  with  gipsy  skins  and  wild  woodland 
eyes;  kitchen-maids  from  whose  round  cheeks  not 
even  the  rumour  of  death  had  been  able  to  scare  the 
colours.  At  the  end  of  the  long  stream,  a  thin, 
shrinking  figure  with  faltering  steps  and  white  face 
marked  with  suffering  —  all  that  a  man's  passion  had 
left  of  her  who  had  once  been  well  suited  with  the 
name  of  Rose !  Beside  her,  his  short-sighted  gaze 
fixed  like  that  of  one  walking  in  his  sleep,  came 
Favereau.  And  finally,  with  a  patter  of  little  fright- 
ened feet,  a  flutter  of  garments  and  flying  sobs, 
Nessie  Rodriguez  again.  She  vehemently  pushed 
her  way  between  them  all,  crying: 

"Oh,  will  no  one  stop  that  dreadful  bell !" 
"  Hush !  "    said    Madame   de   Lormes,    rebuking. 
"  Silence !  "  ordered  she,  turning  to  the  whispering 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      233 

servants.  "  It  is  the  passing  bell :  on  your  knees,  all 
of  you,  and  pray  for  the  soul  that  is  going. " 

She  swept  up  to  the  table  and  knelt  down  first, 
facing  the  room.  The  servants,  falling  into  a  circle, 
followed  her  example.  Favereau,  with  a  sudden 
failure  of  his  self-control,  fell  upon  his  knees  too 
against  a  chair,  and  wrung  his  clasped  hands  above 
his  head.     The  Doctor  still  stood  at  Helen's  door. 

Three  times  the  note  of  the  passing  bell  dropped 
into  the  deep  silence ;  faded  away  tremulously.  The 
Doctor's  hands  crept  to  his  ears  as  if  to  stifle  the 
sound,  then  slowly,  like  one  impelled  by  an  unseen 
force,  he  too  sank  on  his  knees,  folded  his  rugged 
fingers  and  bent  his  head. 

Over  the  murmur  of  praying  lips  a  voice  weeping 
and  wailing  in  the  distance  penetrated  into  the 
room. 

The  old  housekeeper  exchanged  a  terrified  look 
with  the  majordomo,  rose  painfully  from  her  knees 
and  stepped  out  with  ponderous  precaution.  There 
was  a  shrill  scream  on  the  threshold,  and  then,  her 
baby  curls  wild,  a  dark  cloak  flung  over  the  white 
night-gown,  her  feet  bare,  Joy  broke  in  upon  them, 
striking  right  and  left  at  those  that  tried  vainly  to 
arrest  her. 

"Where  is  he.?"  she  shrieked.  "I  will  go  to 
him.  If  he  is  dying,  as  you  say,  then  I  must  go  to 
him!" 

All  rose  from  their  knees.  There  was  an  instinc- 
tive rush  to  place  a  living  barrier  before  the  door  of 
the  death  room. 


334      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"Girl,"  said  Madame  de  Lormes,  advancing  with 
fierce  menace  upon  her  —  "  girl,  have  you  no 
decency  ?  " 

At  the  same  instant  Nessie  Rodriguez  caught  the 
struggling  figure  by  the  arm. 

"  Come  away,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  you  —  you  who 
brought  all  this  about !  Go  and  hide  your  face  and 
weep  alone." 

But  Joy  wrenched  herself  free  with  furious  gesture. 
"  Let  me  go,  I  say  !  What  do  I  care  for  any  of  you  ! 
You  fools,  you  let  him  go  to  his  death  without  lift- 
ing a  finger;  him,  that  man  who  was  a  prince  among 
you,  whose  hand  none  of  you  were  worthy  to  touch 
—  you  let  him  go  and  be  murdered  !  "  Her  voice  rose 
into  a  scream.  "  What  do  I  care  for  any  of  you ;  let 
me  go !  " 

The  folding  doors  were  pushed  apart  and  Helen 
appeared  supporting  herself  with  a  hand  on  each. 

She  stood,  looking  straight  before  her;  the  small- 
est sound  was  hushed  among  them  all.  Her  white 
lips  parted : 

"Stop  the  bell." 

First  it  ran  in  awestruck  whisper  from  mouth  to 
mouth  :  "The  master  's  dead,  the  master  's  dead,  the 
Duke  is  dead."  Then  it  broke  forth  in  momentary 
clamour.  Joy  fell  on  the  floor  in  a  heap  as  if  struck 
down. 

"Dead,  dead!" 

They  began  to  huddle  together  and  slink  away, 
these  honest  serving  folk  who,  distantly  or  closely, 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      23S 

had  loved  their  master,  and  knew  not  how  to  bear 
themselves  where  death,  that  most  ordinary  of  visi- 
tors, had  come  in  such  extraordinary  fashion.  One 
of  the  game-keepers,  turning  at  the  door,  bent  his 
knee  and  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  as  if  in  church. 

Lebel,  with  a  scarlet  face  of  trouble,  cast  one  look 
at  Helen's  motionless  figure,  then  he  whispered  has- 
tily to  Madame  de  Lormes: 

"Get  that  girl  away  before  the  Duchess  sees  her." 

Madame  de  Lormes  approached  the  crouching 
figure  and,  bending  over  it,  in  a  hissing  undertone 
hurled  her  ban : 

"Out  of  this  room!  Out  of  this  house!  You 
have  made  a  widow  of  your  benefactress,  a  murderer 
of  my  son  !  Have  you  not  done  enough  ?  Back  to 
where  you  came  from,  back  to  the  streets  —  accursed 
that  you  are !  " 

From  the  huddled  heap  on  the  floor  two  savage 
dark  eyes  looked  up  for  a  second ;  then  on  hands  and 
knees  Joy  crept  a  step  away,  a  step  nearer  the  inner 
chamber.     Now  Nessie  darted  at  her. 

"If  Helen  sees  her  it  will  just  kill  her!  Come 
with  me,"  she  cried,  gripping  the  thin  shoulder; 
"I'll  take  you " 

"Where  would  you  take  me.?"  asked  Joy,  in  a 
toneless  voice. 

'■'Where.?  I  don't  know.  To  some  house  —  some 
house  of  penance  where  they  receive  such  as  you." 

As  she  spoke  Nessie  strove  to  drag  the  girl  from 
the  floor,  and  Joy  gave  a  sharp  cry,  like  a  hurt  child. 
At   the  sound  Helen  started  and  seemed  to  wake. 


336      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

She  looked  round  upon  the  room,  at  the  group,  at 
Joy,  and  the  marble  stillness  of  her  face  became 
troubled  as  with  a  yet  hardly  realised  horror. 

"Out!  out!"  again  whispered  Nessie  in  Joy's 
ear. 

"Let  her  be  carried  away,"  said  Madame  de 
Lormes,  loudly.     "  Call  back  the  men  !  " 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  the  Duchess,  in  a  loud,  clear  voice. 
She  threw  back  the  doors  and  the  bedroom  lay  dis- 
closed, its  curtained  darkness  illumined  by  the 
lighted  candles  at  the  head  of  the  bed  upon  which 
lay  the  motionless  figure  under  the  purple  folds,  with 
just  one  ivory  hand  catching  the  light.  The  Canon's 
white  head  shone  with  a  silver  aureole  as  he  knelt 
by  the  side,  his  elbows  on  the  hurdle,  holding  the 
crucifix  aloft  in  his  clasped  hands;  his  voice  rose  and 
fell  in  low,  ardent  supplication. 

Helen  advanced  and  looked  a  second  with  majestic 
reproach  upon  them  all.     Then  she  spoke. 

"  Is  there  not  one  Christian  among  you.-*  " 

They  fell  back  before  her  in  awestruck  silence. 
She  turned  her  eyes  upon  the  prostrate  girl : 

"Child!" 

It  was  a  cry  from  the  depths  of  her  betrayed 
heart. 

Joy  crept  nearer  on  her  hands  and  knees,  caught 
up  the  fold  of  Helen's  garments,  laid  her  head  upon 
her  feet,  and  at  last  broke  into  sobs  and  tears. 

Thereupon  Favereau,  white  ghost  of  himself, 
came  forward  from  his  hidden  corner. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      337 

"  Go,  go  !  "  cried  he,  driving  the  spectators  before 
him.     "  Go  all  of  you.     Let  us  leave  them  alone  !  " 

He  himself,  the  last  to  retire,  stood  a  second  on 
the  threshold  and  cast  a  long  look  back  at  Helen's 
beautiful,  motionless  figure,  at  the  crouching  heap 
at  her  feet.     Then  he  softly  closed  the  passage  door. 

Helen  and  Joy  were  alone  in  the  room.  And  be- 
yond lay  the  dead  Cluny.  Suddenly,  from  between 
her  sobs,  as  she  clasped  and  kissed  her  benefactress' 
feet,  the  girl  began  to  moan  faintly: 

"  I  loved  him  too;  ah,  I  loved  him  too !  " 

Helen's  face  contracted,  a  great  spasm  of  horror, 
of  revolt  came  over  it.  The  Canon's  voice  rose  from 
within  in  that  prayer  of  the  agonised  believer  which, 
in  its  fervid  insistence,  seems  almost  to  command 
the  Almighty. 

"Remember  not  his  sins,  O  Lord,  for  he  has 
hoped  in  you.  Succour  his  soul,  O  Saints  of  God, 
meet  him.  Angels  of  God,  receive  him.  May  he 
rest  in  peace,  may  he  rest  in  peace  ! " 

Helen  echoed  the  words  aloud  :  "  Peace,  peace  !  " 
Then,  with  a  cry:  "Remember  not  his  sins!  .  .  . 
It  was  his  sin  !" 

She  folded  her  hands  over  her  broken  heart.  "His 
sin,  O  merciful  God  !  Grant  me  strength  to  atone  for 
him  to  Thee!"  She  looked  down  at  Joy.  "  To  atotie 
to  her,  for  him. !  " 

Stooping,  she  raised  her,  held  her. 

"Poor  child!" 

And  her  tears  began  to  stream. 


THAT  DAT  MONTH 


\ 


CHAPTER   XLII 

THE  Doctor  came  down  the  steps  of  the 
house  to  the  terrace  and  walked  slowly 
up  to  the  Canon  who  was  waiting  for 
him  by  their  favourite  corner  of  the 
balustrade. 
On  this  cold  November  afternoon,  faded  was  the 
glorious  panorama  they  had  gazed  upon  together  a 
month  ago,  faded  and  desolate.  Brown  or  grey  now 
lay  fields  and  woods  under  a  lowering  sky,  with  dull 
wrack  sailing  low  before  a  driving  wind.  Shrouded 
was  the  valley  in  obscuring  mist,  over  which  the 
arches  of  the  distant  aqueduct  seemed  to  hang  in 
mid-air  like  some  fantastic  cloud  vision. 

"Well? "  said  the  priest,  hurriedly,  as  soon  as  his 
friend  had  joined  him. 

"Well,"  answered  the  Doctor,  driving  his  hands 
deep  into  his  pockets  with  his  familiar  gesture. 
"Oh,  she  is  all  right!  At  least,  as  right  as  she  '11 
ever  be  in  this  world."  He  looked  gloomily  across 
the  sallow  land  and  ended  with  a  noisy  sigh. 

"  She  was  looking  very  pale,  very  pale,  this  morn- 
ing in  the  chapel,"  said  the  Canon,  seemingly  ill- 
satisfied.     "  Had  she  a  headache }  " 


342      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 


"I  don't  think  so.  She  cries  so  much,"  the  Doc- 
tor's mouth  twitched  a  little,  "  it  is  hard  to  tell  by 
her  face." 

"Her  pulse?" 

"Quite  normal." 

"Some  little  tonic?" 

The  Doctor  exploded  with  that  rage  of  the  sore 
heart  that  no  one  ever  resents. 

''  Saperlipopette  !  Go  and  prescribe  for  her  your- 
self !  Indeed,  my  good  Canon,  it 's  really  within 
your  province.  Is  not  this  the  sort  of  case  when  re- 
ligion is  supposed  to  come  in  ?  Where  are  all  these 
famous  consolations?  "  He  broke  off  as  if  ashamed 
of  his  vehemence.  "There,  there,"  he  exclaimed, 
forestalling  the  sad  rebuke  he  saw  in  the  priest's 
eyes,  "I  '11  not  say  but  she  has  found  help.  Ah, 
poor  child,  true  or  false,  it  is  all  she  has!  Who 
would  try  to  rob  her  of  it?     Not  I  .  .   .  not  I." 

The  Canon  laid  his  hand  on  the  Doctor's  thread- 
bare sleeve.  The  wind  was  blowing  very  chill  about 
them,  fluttering  the  priest's  long  white  hair,  making 
the  Doctor's  loose  coat  flap.  Yellow  leaves,  torn 
from  their  withered  stems,  drifted  past  them.  With 
one  accord  they  fell  to  pacing  between  the  empty 
flower-beds. 

"  When  she  spoke  to  me  on  the  chapel  steps  this 
morning,"  said  the  priest,  "I  confess  that  her 
appearance  alarmed  me.  She  scarcely  looked  as  if 
she  belonged  to  this  earth.  That  was  why  I  begged 
you  to  find  a  pretext  for  looking  in  upon  her." 

"No  cause  for  anxiety,"  said  the  Doctor,  impa- 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       343 

tiently,  "so  long  as  you  don't  make  her  too  good  for 
this  earth  —  for  she  is  wanted  down  here  badly,"  he 
added  with  a  sigh. 

The  Canon  hesitated,  then  he  said  in  a  low  voice: 
"  She  told  me  that  I  might  write  to  Monsieur 
Favereau  to  come  and  see  her." 

The  Doctor  started.  "Glad  to  hear  it,"  he  cried 
emphatically.  "Ah,  poor  fellow,  how  he  has 
suffered !  " 

"She  never  had  anger  in  her  heart,"  pursued  the 
Canon;  "not  even  against  the  man"  —  his  voice 
changed  to  a  quite  unconscious  note  of  deep  resent- 
ment —  "  against  the  man  who  was  the  cause  of  her 
husband's  death." 

He  paused.  The  Doctor  gnashed  his  teeth. 
Human  nature  dies  hard  even  in  the  saint :  there 
was  enough  of  the  old  "  man  "  left  in  the  Canon  of 
Marly  to  make  him  feel  that  although  he  could  not, 
of  course,  approve  of  the  Doctor's  muttered  curse, 
neither  could  he  find  it  in  his  heart  to  rebuke  him 
for  it.  After  a  few  moments  he  pursued,  as  if  he 
had  heard  nothing: 

"  From  the  very  first  day  she  made  the  sacrifice  of 
forgiveness  —  forgiveness  towards  all.  As  regards 
Monsieur  Favereau,  her  old  friend,  whom  she  had  re- 
lied on  for  help  her  whole  life  long,  and  who  had  failed 
her  at  the  test,  she  never  spoke  one  bitter  word 
except  that  first  cry :  *  He  knew  !  '  Ah  me,  but  that 
was  the  most  terrible  indictment !  Lebel,  Lebel, 
fancy  what  it  would  have  meant  to  her  if  he  at  least 
had  had  the  courage  to  do  right.     He  made  me  tell 


344      THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

him  what  she  had  said.  Shall  I  ever  forget  his  face 
as  he  turned  away  and  walked  down  that  road,  left 
this  place,  he  thought,  never  to  return !  " 

"She  could  not  bear  to  see  him,"  commented  the 
Doctor.     "It  is  only  natural." 

"It  was  perhaps  the  last  little  touch  of  earthly 
weakness  left  in  her,"  said  the  Canon.  "She  has 
now  surmounted  it.  Every  day  I  see  the  trouble 
which  is  of  this  world  fade  from  her  sorrow  and  the 
serenity  grow  which  is  of  the  world  to  come.  She 
was  faithful  to  her  God  in  her  happiness:  in  her  trial 
He  has  not  abandoned  her." 

The  Doctor  wagged  his  head  with  a  look  of  inerad- 
icable doubt  struggling  with  grudged  admission. 
They  took  a  few  paces  in  silence,  then  he  exclaimed 
bitterly: 

"  Yes,  yes.  That 's  the  sort  of  thing  that  sounds 
so  fine  from  the  pulpit,  Canon.  But  allow  me  to 
say  that  the  way  in  v/hich  the  Duchess  has  been 
treated  by  what  you  are  pleased  to  call  Providence 
is  hardly  encouraging  for  others  to  place  their  funds 
in  that  bank." 

It  might  have  been  remarked  by  any  who  had 
known  the  quarrelsome  friends  a  month  ago  that  a 
change  had  come  over  their  relations.  The  scathing 
rebuke  that  at  this  irreverence  would  have  flashed 
in  the  Canon's  eye  and  issued  from  his  lips  was  now 
absent.  The  only  emotion  visible  on  his  counte- 
nance was  one  of  the  most  affectionate  distress.  As 
for  the  Doctor  himself,  no  sooner  were  the  words  out 
of  his  mouth  than  he  put  out  his  hand  in  apology 
and  added  with  quite  unwonted  gentleness : 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD       345 

"Forgive  me,  Canon.  One  must  have  one's  growl 
in  this  brute  of  a  world,  you  know.  Upon  my  word, 
I  'm  not  sure  that  you  people  who  manage  to  keep 
up  a  faith  in  a  better  one  have  not  the  pull  over  us 
in  the  long  run.  But  there's  my  unfortunate  logic 
always  cropping  up,  you  see." 

"Ah,  my  dear  friend,"  said  the  Canon,  "use  your 
logic  then  in  this  instance,  before  you  cast  up  to  a 
merciful  God  the  misfortunes  of  this  house.  Go 
back  once  again  to  their  primary  cause.     Our  poor 

Duke "     His  voice  quivered,    and  the  Doctor 

with  a  hasty  gesture  of  the  hand  begged  for  silence. 
Neither  of  them,  from  their  vastly  different  stand- 
points, could  yet  bear  to  cast  a  word  of  blame  on  the 
memory  of  that  beloved  sinner. 

"I  must  speak,  though,"  pursued  the  priest,  after 
a  pause.  "  Had  the  Duke  remained  in  the  path  God 
had  marked  out  for  him  as  for  the  rest  of  the  world, 
what  a  happy  home  should  ours  still  be  to-day,  in- 
stead of "     Again  he  stopped,  then  went  on  in 

low  resigned  accents :  "  Henceforth  must  it  not  be 
for  all  of  us  so  long  as  we  live  a  house  of  mourning.? 
Even  then,  the  first  grievous  act  once  committed,  had 
Monsieur  Favereau  not  tried  to  mend  wrong  by  further 
wrong,  had  you  not  all,  you  yourself  included,  at  the 
actual  moment  of  catastrophe,  condoned,  nay,  helped 
to,  that  fatal  duel,  that  grievous  infraction  of  the 
written  word  of  God,  she  might  now  be  weeping  it 
is  true,  but  not  the  widow's  tears.  Ah,  no,  my 
friend,"  cried  the  priest,  with  a  sorrowful  warmth, 
"  it  is  not  Providence  who  has  worked  to  this  sorrow, 
it  is  sin." 


346       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

"  What  the  devil !  "  exclaimed  the  Doctor,  indig- 
nantly, scrubbing  his  beard.  "Throw  the  blame  on 
me,  now  do  !  It 's  all  my  fault,  of  course.  I  should 
just  like  you  to  tell  me  what  I  could  have  done.'' " 

"The  right,"  again  asserted  the  other,  unhesi- 
tatingly. 

They  had  reached  the  head  of  the  steps  which  led 
down  to  the  garden. 

"Well,  I  am  going  home,"  said  Lebel,  grumpily. 

Mildly  answered  his  friend:  "Our  ways  lie 
together." 

Lebel  shrugged  his  shoulders;  the  priest's  last 
words  were  rankling  in  his  mind.  He  ran  down 
the  steps.  But  half-way  through  "the  Canon's 
walk,"  at  the  stone  bench  where  they  had  met  on 
the  morning  of  that  memorable  day  and  had  planned 
to  divert  the  course  of  Fate,  he  halted  and  waited 
for  his  friend. 

As  the  latter  came  up,  not  a  little  out  of  breath, 
the  Doctor  greeted  him  with  a  fresh  outburst. 

"  You  remember  what  I  said  to  you  a  few  weeks 
ago,  here  in  this  very  place?  Hold  me  responsible, 
indeed  !  Who  aided  the  Duchess  in  that  folly  of 
adoption,  I  should  like  to  know.  Thousand  thun- 
ders !  One  does  what  one  can  !  Do  you  think  I  liked 
to  go  and  see  him  shot  ?  Had  that  cursed  ball  sped 
differently,  my  presence  might  have  saved  his  life 
perhaps.  I  should  have  gone  for  the  police,  I  sup- 
pose.? Pretty  business!  As  if  that  would  have 
stopped  anything,  either.  At  least  we  kept  the 
scandal  from  spreading.     And  then  you  talk  of  sin, 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      347 

sin,  sin !  What  of  your  holy,  well-thinking  Mar- 
quise? She  is  righteous  enough,  that  one!  She 
knew,  as  well  as  I  did;  could  have  helped  as  much 
as  I  could." 

His  voice  died  away  in  a  muttered  grumble.  The 
Canon  lifted  his  head  with  the  ghost  of  a  bygone 
haughtiness. 

"The  poor  Marquise,"  said  he.  "Alas,  she 
failed  on  the  side  of  her  predominant  passion!  It 
was  a  question  of  tradition,  you  see." 

Dr.  Lebel  flung  a  shrewd,  mocking  look  at  the 
priest's  aristocratic  face. 

"You  think,  no  doubt,"  he  jeered,  "that  I,  as 
the  son  of  peasant  folk  and  blacksmiths,  have  no 
excuse;  but  that  for  the  aristocratic  transgressions 
of  the  others  —  people  of  quality  —  there  are  special 
accommodations  with  Heaven,  eh.  Monsieur  de 
Hauteroche .''  " 

"  I  ?  "  cried  the  priest,  startled.  He  flushed  to 
the  roots  of  his  hair,  then  sank  upon  the  bench  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"God  knows,"  said  he,  "God  knows  the  clay  of 
which  He  has  fashioned  us !  Alas,  my  friend, 
there  is  but  one  thing  clear,  one  thing  we  must 
learn  in  all  this,  that  He  alone  can  make  good  out 
of  evil  —  man  cannot." 

The  Doctor  plumped  down  on  the  stone,  propped 
his  chin  on  his  hands  and  shook  his  head  from  side 
to  side  in  deep  despondency. 

"  Oh,  I  '11  not  say,"  he  cried  at  last,  "  there  's  some- 
thing in  your  theory!     But  that  good  woman,  that 


348       THE    SECRET    ORCHARD 

gentle  creature,  what  harm  did  she  do?     How  has 
your  just  God  rewarded  her?  " 

"Hold,  sir,"  said  the  priest,  "and  I  will  tell  you. 
She  has  been  rewarded  as  she  herself  would  have 
chosen  to  be  rewarded  —  by  the  only  reward  meet  for 
her  and  one  which  transcends  all  earthly  blessings 
—  the  salvation  of  her  husband's  soul.  I  was  present 
at  that  death.  It  was  a  moment  of  immeasurable 
sorrow,  yet  of  unspeakable  consolation.  I  may  say 
that  her  husband's  repentant  spirit  passed  through 
her  hands  to  his  God.  No  despair  can  ever  touch 
Helen  now.  Therefore  does  she  weep  like  those  who 
have  hope.  Not  only  that,"  continued  the  Canon, 
"but  that  other  soul,  that  soul  that  was  living  in 
death,  through  him,  through  his  fault,  she  has  called 
it  to  life  again." 

The  Doctor  jerked  up  his  head  and  stared  at  his 
friend:  his  little  eyes  were  very  fierce,  as  if  in  defi- 
ance of  the  tear  that  was  rising  to  them. 

"Do  you  really  think,"  he  asked,  "that  such  a 
business  will  work?  That  they  can  go  on  living 
together  up  there?  That  that  little  devil's  spawn 
won't  break  her  rescuer's  heart  again  when  the 
hour  comes?  It's  clean  against  nature  all  round, 
Canon  !  " 

"It's  a  miracle  of  God's  grace,"  said  the  Canon, 
with  a  confident  smile.  "Anything  less  marvellous, 
less  superhuman,  would  have  been  beneath  that 
perfect  soul." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  filled  by  deep  thought, 
to  the  accompaniment  of  the  autumn  wind's  sad 
song.     At  last  the  Doctor  shook  off  the  reverie. 


THE    SECRET    ORCHARD      349 

"  And  the  girl  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  girl !  "  resumed  the  other,  earnestly.  "  Oh, 
I  have  great  hopes !  That  extraordinary  power  of 
passion  in  her  which  was,  alas !  spent  in  such  an 
unregulated  torrent,  seems  to  have  been  diverted 
into  another  course  —  one  that  cannot  but  be  pro- 
ductive of  good,  of  healing,  of  rehabilitation.  The 
Duchess  is  now  the  object  of  the  poor  wayward 
child's  jealous  devotion.  I  build  greatly  on  that  — 
greatly.  Helen  will  eventually  transfer  this  love, 
as  she  transferred  her  husband's,  to  God." 

The  Doctor  looked  sceptical,  opened  his  mouth  to 
contradict,  marked  the  Canon's  face,  which  these 
last  few  weeks  had  so  altered,  so  aged,  transfigured 
now  as  with  an  inner  light,  and  refrained. 

Why  cast  a  doubt  tipon  this  faith  ?  What  had  he, 
after  all,  so  much  better  to  offer  instead  f 

He  put  out  his  hand  and  affectionately  tapped  his 
old  friend's  knee. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "who  knows.?" 


THE   END 


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